<s 


BOOKS  BY 


Cjbrrt 

N.  Muxntu.) 


IN   THE  TENNESSEE    MOUNTAINS.      Short 
Stories.     16010,  $1.35. 

DOWN  THE  RAVINE.    Illustrated,   i6mo.fi.oo. 

THE    PROPHET    OF    THE    GREAT    SMOKY 
MOUNTAINS.     A  Novel.     i6mo,  >i.»$. 

IN   THE   CLOUDS.    A  Morel.     i6mo,  $1.15. 

THE   STORY  OF    KEEDON    BLUFFS.     i6mo, 
$1.00. 

THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    A 
Novel.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE 


BY 

CHARLES  EGBERT  CRADDOCK 

AUTHOR  OF   "IN  THE  TENNESSEE   MQITNTAISS,"    "THE  FBOPBKT  OF  THB 
CHEAT   SMOKT  MufSTAlKS,"   ETC. 

LOS 


EIGHTH  EDITION 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTOX,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
New  York:  11   East  Seventeenth  Street 


1889 


Copyright,  1886, 
BY  M.  N.  MURFRKB. 

All  rights  reserved. 


T\t  Riverside  Pre$s,  Cambridgr,  Mast.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotj  ped  and  Printed  by  11.  O.  lloughton  &  Company. 


?5 


DOWN  THE  EAYINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  new  moon,  a  gleaming  scimitar,  cleft 
the  gauzy  mists  above  a  rugged  spur  of  the 
Cumberland  Mountains.  The  sky,  still  crim 
son  and  amber,  stretched  vast  and  lonely  above 
the  vast  and  lonely  landscape.  A  fox  was 
barking  in  the  laurel. 

This  was  an  imprudent  proceeding  on  the 
part  of  the  fox,  considering  the  value  of  his 
head-gear.  A  young  mountaineer  down  the 
ravine  was  reminded,  by  the  sharp,  abrupt 
sound,  of  a  premium  offered  by  the  State  of 
Tennessee  for  the  scalp  and  ears  of  the  pestif 
erous  red  fox. 

All  unconscious  of  the  legislation  of  exter 
mination,  the  animal  sped  nimbly  along  the 
ledge  of  a  cliff,  becoming  visible  from  the  ra- 


4  DO  WN  THE  RA  1 7.VA*. 

vine  below,  a  tawny  streak  against  the  gray 
rock.  Swift  though  he  was,  a  jet  of  red  light 
flashing  out  in  the  dusk  was  yet  swifter.  The 
echoing  crags  clamored  with  the  report  of  a 
rifle.  The  tawny  streak  was  suddenly  still. 
Three  boys  appeared  in  the  depths  of  the  ra 
vine  and  looked  up. 

"  Thar  now !  Ye  can't  git  him  off  'n  that 
thar  ledge,  Birt,"  said  Tim  Griggs.  "The 
contrairy  beast  is  could  n't  hev  fund  a  more  ill- 
convenient  spot  ter  die  ef  he  hed  sarched  the 
mounting." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  ter  leave  him  thar,  though," 
stoutly  declared  the  boy  who  still  held  the 
rifle.  "  That  thar  fox's  scalp  an'  his  two  ears 
air  wuth  one  whole  dollar." 

Tim  remonstrated.  "  Look-a-hyar,  Birt ;  ef 
ye  try  ter  climb  up  this  hyar  bluff,  ye  '11  git 
yer  neck  bruk,  sure." 

Birt  Dicey  looked  up  critically.  It  was  a 
rugged  ascent  of  forty  feet  or  more  to  the  nar 
row  ledge  where  the  red  fox  lay.  Although 
the  face  of  the  cliff  was  jagged,  the  rock 
greatly  splintered  and  fissured,  with  many 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  5 

ledges,  and  here  and  there  a  tuft  of  weeds  or 
a  stunted  bush  growing  in  a  niche,  it  was  very 
steep,  and  would  afford  precarious  foothold. 
The  sunset  was  fading.  The  uncertain  light 
would  multiply  the  dangers  of  the  attempt. 
But  to  leave  a  dollar  lying  there  on  the  fox's 
head,  that  the  wolf  and  the  buzzard  might 
dine  expensively  to-morrow ! 

"  An'  me  so  tried  for  money  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
thinking  aloud. 

Nate  Griggs,  who  had  not  before  spoken, 
gave  a  sudden  laugh,  —  a  dry,  jeering  laugh. 

"  Ef  all  the  foxes  on  the  mounting  war  ter 
hold  a  pertracted  meet'n,  jes'  ter  pleasure  you- 
uns,  thar  would  n't  be  enough  scalps  an'  ears 
'mongst  'em  ter  make  up  the  money  ye  hanker 
fur  ter  buy  a  horse." 

To  buy  a  horse  was  the  height  of  Birt's  am 
bition.  His  mother  was  a  widow ;  and  as  an 
instance  of  the  fact  that  misfortunes  seldom 
come  singly,  the  horse  on  which  the  family  de 
pended  to  till  their  scanty  acres  died  shortly 
after  his  owner.  And  so,  whenever  the  spring 
opened  and  the  ploughs  all  over  the  country- 


6  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

side  were  starting,  their  one  chance  to  culti 
vate  a  crop  was  to  hire  a  mule  from  their 
nearest  neighbor,  the  tanner.  Birt  was  the 
eldest  son,  and  his  mother  had  only  his  work 
to  offer  in  payment.  The  proposition  always 
took  the  tanner  in  what  he  called  a  "  jubious 
time."  Spring  is  the  season  for  stripping  the 
trees  of  their  bark,  which  is  richer  in  tannin 
when  the  sap  flows  most  freely,  and  the  mule 
was  needed  to  haul  up  the  piles  of  bark  from 
out  the  depths  of  the  woods  to  the  tauyard. 
Then,  too,  Jubal  Perkins  had  his  own  crops  to 
put  in.  As  he  often  remarked  in  the  course 
of  the  negotiation,  "  I  don't  eat  tan  bark  — 
nor  yit  raw  hides."  Although  the  mule  was  a 
multifarious  animal,  and  ploughed  and  worked 
in  the  bark-mill,  and  hauled  from  the  woods, 
and  went  long  journeys  in  the  wagon  or  under 
the  saddle,  he  was  not  ubiquitous,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  be  in  the  several  places 
in  which  he  was  urgently  needed  at  the  same 
time.  Therefore,  to  hire  him  out  on  these 
terms  seemed  hardly  an  advantage  to  his  mas 
ter.  Nevertheless,  this  bargain  was  annually 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  7 

struck.  The  poverty-stricken  widow  always 
congratulated  herself  upon  its  conclusion,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  her  that  the  amount  of 
work  that  Birt  did  in  the  tanyard  was  a  dis 
proportionately  large  return  for  the  few  days 
that  the  tanner's  mule  ploughed  their  little 
fields. 

Birt,  however,  was  beginning  to  see  that  a 
boy  to  drive  that  mule  around  the  bark-mill 
was  as  essential  as  the  mule  himself.  As 
Providence  had  failed  to  furnish  the  tanner 
with  a  son  for  this  purpose  —  his  family  con 
sisting  of  several  small  daughters  —  Birt  sup 
plied  a  long-felt  want. 

The  boy  appreciated  that  his  simple  mother 
was  over-reached,  yet  he  could  not  see  that 
she  could  do  otherwise.  He  sighed  for  in 
dependence,  for  a  larger  opportunity.  As  he 
drove  the  mule  round  the  limited  circuit,  his 
mind  was  far  away.  He  anxiously  canvassed 
the  future.  He  cherished  fiery,  ambitious 
schemes,  —  often  scorched,  poor  fellow,  by 
their  futility.  With  his  time  thus  mortgaged, 
he  thought  his  help  to  his  mother  was  far  less 


8  DOWN  THE  RAUNE. 

than  it  might  be.  But  until  he  could  have  a 
horse  of  his  own,  there  was  no  hope  —  no 
progress.  And  for  this  he  planned,  and 
dreamed,  and  saved. 

Partly  these  considerations,  partly  the  love 
of  adventure,  and  partly  the  jeer  in  Nate's 
laugh  determined  him  not  to  relinquish  the 
price  set  upon  the  fox's  head.  lie  took  off  his 
coat  and  flung  it  on  the  ground  be.sidf  his 
rifle.  Then  he  began  to  clamber  up  the  cliff. 

The  two  brothers,  their  hands  in  the  pock 
ets  of  their  brown  jeans  trousers,  stood  watch 
ing  his  ascent.  Nate  had  sandy  hair,  small 
gray  eyes,  set  much  too  close  together,  and  a 
sharp,  pale,  freckled  face.  Tim  seemed  only 
a  mild  repetition  of  him,  as  if  Nature  had 
tried  to  illustrate  what  Nate  would  be  with 
a  better  temper  and  less  sly  intelligence. 

Birt  was  climbing  slowly.  It  was  a  difficult 
matter.  Here  was  a  crevice  that  would  hardly 
admit  his  eager  fingers,  and  again  a  projec 
tion  so  narrow  that  it  seemed  to  grudge  liim 
foothold.  Some  of  the  ledges,  however,  were 
wider,  and  occasionally  a  dwarfed  huckleberry 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  9 

bush,  nourished  in  a  fissure,  lifted  him  up  like 
a  helping  hand.  He  quaked  as  he  heard  the 
roots  strain  and  creak,  for  he  was  a  pretty 
heavy  fellow  for  sixteen  years  of  age.  They 
did  not  give  way,  however,  and  up  and  up  he 
went,  every  moment  increasing  the  depth  be 
low  him  and  the  danger.  His  breath  was 
short;  his  strength  flagged,  he  slipped  more 
than  once,  giving  himself  a  great  fright ;  and 
when  he  reached  the  ledge  where  the  dead 
fox  lay,  he  thought,  "  The  varmint  don't 
wuth  it." 

Nevertheless  he  whooped  out  his  triumph 
to  Nate  and  Tiin  in  a  stentorian  halloo,  for 
they  had  already  started  homeward,  and  pres 
ently  their  voices  died  in  the  distance.  Birt 
faced  about  and  sat  down  on  the  ledge  to  rest, 
his  feet  dangling  over  the  depths  beneath. 

It  was  a  lonely  spot,  walled  in  by  the  moun 
tains,  and  frequented  only  by  the  deer  that 
were  wont  to  come  to  lick  salt  from  the  briny 
margin  of  a  great  salt  spring  far  down  the 
ravine.  Their  hoofs  had  worn  a  deep  exca 
vation  around  it  in  the  countless  years  and 


10  DOWN  THE  RA17NE. 

generations  that  they  had  herded  here.  The 
"  lick,"  as  such  places  are  called  in  Tennessee, 
was  nearly  two  acres  in  extent,  and  in  the  cen 
tre  of  the  depression  the  brackish  water  stood 
to  the  depth  of  six  feet  or  more.  Birt  looked 
down  at  it.  thinking  of  the  old  times  when, 
according  to  tradition,  it  was  the  stamping 
ground  of  buffalo  as  well  as  deer.  The  dusk 
deepened.  The  shadows  were  skulking  in  and 
out  of  the  wild  ravine  as  the  wind  rose  ami 
fell.  They  took  to  his  fancy  the  form  of  lu-uls 
of  the  banished  bison,  revisiting  in  this  impal 
pable  guise  the  sylvan  shades  where  they  are 
but  a  memory  now. 

Presently  he  began  the  rugged  descent,  con 
siderably  hampered  by  the  fox,  which  he  car 
ried  by  the  tail.  He  stopped  to  rest  when 
ever  he  found  a  ledge  that  would  serve  as  a 
seat.  Looking  up,  high  above  the  jagged 
summit  of  the  cliff  that  sharply  serrated  the 
zenith,  he  saw  the  earliest  star,  glorious  in 
the  crimson  and  amber  sky.  Below,  a  point 
of  silver  light  quivered,  reflected  in  the  crim 
son  and  amber  waters  of  the  "lick."  The 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  11 

fire-flies  were  flickering  among  the  ferns ;  he 
saw  about  him  their  errant  gleam.  The  shad 
owy  herds  trooped  down  the  mountain  side. 

Now  and  then  his  weight  uprooted  a  bush 
in  his  hands,  and  the  clods  fell.  He  missed 
his  footing  as  he  neared  the  base,  and  came 
down  with  a  thump.  It  was  a  gravelly  spot 
where  he  had  fallen,  and  he  saw  in  a  moment 
that  it  was  the  summer-dried  channel  of  a 
mountain  rill.  As  he  pulled  himself  up  on 
one  elbow,  he  suddenly  paused  with  dilated 
eyes.  The  evening  light  fell  upon  a  burnished 
glimmer  ;  —  a  bit  of  stone  —  was  it  stone  ?  — 
shining  with  a  metallic  lustre. 

He  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  his  eyes 
glowing  in  the  contemplation  of  a  splendid 
possibility. 

What  were  those  old  stories  that  his  father 
used  to  tell  of  the  gold  excitement  in  Tennes 
see  in  1831,  when  the  rich  earth  flung  largess 
from  its  hidden  wealth  along  the  romantic 
banks  of  Coca  Creek !  Gold  had  been  found 
in  Tennessee  —  why  not  here  ?  And  once  — 
why  not  again  ? 


12  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

The  idea  so  possessed  him  that  while  he 
was  skinning  the  fox  his  sharp  knife  alm<»t 
sacrificed  one  of  the  two  ears  imperatively  re 
quired  by  the  statute,  in  order  that  the  wily 
hunter  may  not  be  tempted  to  present  one  ear 
at  a  time,  thus  multiplying  red  foxes  and 
premiums  therefor  like  FalstafTs  "  rogues  in 
buckram." 

He  took  his  way  homeward  through  the 
darkening  woods,  carrying  the  pelt  in  his 
hand.  It  was  not  long  before  he  could  hear 
the  dogs  barking,  and  as  he  came  suddenly 
upon  a  little  clearing  in  the  midst  of  the 
dense,  encompassing  wilderness,  he  saw  them 
all  trooping  down  from  the  unenclosed  pas 
sage  between  the  two  log-rooms  which  consti 
tuted  the  house.  An  old  hound  had  half 
climbed  the  fence,  but  as  he  laid  his  fore-paw 
on  the  topmost  rail,  his  deep-mouthed  bay  was 
hushed,  —  he  was  recognizing  the  approaching 
step  of  his  master.  The  yellow  curs  were  still 
insisting  upon  a  marauder  theory.  One  of 
them  barked  defiance  as  he  thrust  his  head 
between  the  rails  of  the  fence.  There  was 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  13 

another  head  thrust  through  too,  about  on  a 
level  with  Towser's,  but  it  was  not  a  dog's 
head.  As  Birt  caught  a  glimpse  of  it,  he 
called  out  hastily,  "  Stand  back  thar,  Ten 
nessee  ! "  And  then  it  was  lost  to  view,  for 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice  all  the  dogs  came 
huddling  over  the  bars,  shrilly  yelping  a  tu 
multuous  welcome. 

When  Birt  had  vaulted  over  the  fence,  the 
little  object  withdrew  its  head  from  between 
the  rails  and  came  trotting  along  beside  him, 
holding  up  its  hand  to  clasp  his. 

His  mother,  standing  in  the  passage,  her 
tall,  thin  figure  distinct  in  the  firelight  that 
came  flickering  out  through  the  open  door,  so 
liloquized  quendously :  — 

"  Ef  that  thar  child  don't  quit  that  fool 
way  o'  stickin'  her  head  a-twixt  the  rails  ter 
watch  fur  her  brother,  she  '11  git  cotched  thar 
some  day  like  a  peeg  in  a  pen,  an'  git  her  neck 
bruk." 

Birt  overheard  her.  "  Tennessee  air  too 
peart  ter  git  herself  hurt,"  he  said,  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  his  ready  championship  of  his  lit- 


14  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

tie  sister,  as  a  big  rough  boy  is  apt  to  be  of 
gentler  emotions. 

If  ever  infancy  can  be  deemed  uncouth,  she 
was  an  uncouth  little  atom  of  humanity.  Her 
blue  checked  homespun  dress,  graced  with  big 
horn  buttons,  descended  almost  to  her  feet. 
Her  straight,  awkwardly  cropped  hair  was  of 
a  nondescript  shade  pleasantly  called  "  tow." 
As  she  came  into  the  light  of  the  fire,  she 
lifted  wide  black  eyes  deprecatingly  to  her 
mother. 

"  She  ain't  pretty,  I  know,  but  she  air  pow 
erful  peart,"  Birt  used  to  say  so  often  that  the 
phrase  became  a  formula  with  him. 

If  she  were  "  powerful  peart,"  it  was  a  fact 
readily  apparent  only  to  him,  for  she  was  a 
silent  child,  with  the  single  marked  charac 
teristic  of  great  affection  for  her  eldest  brother 
and  a  singular  pertinacity  in  following  him 
about. 

"I  dunno  'bout  Tennie's  peartness,"  his 
mother  sarcastically  rejoined.  "  'Pears  ter  me 
like  the  chile  hain't  never  hed  good  sense; 
afore  she  could  walk  she  'd  crawl  along  the 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  15 

floor  arter  ye,  an'  holler  like  a  squeech-oweZ  ef 
ye  went  off  an'  lef '  her.  An'  ye  air  plumb 
teched  in  the  head  too,  Birt,  ter  set  sech  store 
by  Tennie.  I  look  ter  see  her  killed,  or 
stunted,  some  day,  in  them  travels  o'  hern." 

For  when  Birt  Dicey  went  "  yerrands  "  on 
the  mule  through  the  woods  to  the  Settlement, 
Tennessee  often  rode  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle.  She  followed  in  the  furrow  when  he 
ploughed.  She  was  as  familiar  an  object  at 
the  tanyard  as  the  bark-mill  itself.  When  he 
wielded  the  axe,  she  perched  on  one  end  of  the 
woodpile.  But  so  far,  she  had  passed  safely 
through  her  varied  adventures,  and  gratifying 
evidences  of  her  growth  were  registered  on  the 
door.  "  Stand  back  thar,  Tennessee  !  "  in  a 
loud,  boyish  halloo,  was  a  command  when  dan 
ger  was  ahead,  which  she  obeyed  with  the  read 
iness  of  a  veteran. 

Sometimes,  however,  this  incongruous  com 
panionship  became  irksome  to  him.  Her  trust 
ing,  insistent  affection  made  her  a  clog  upon 
him,  and  he  grew  impatient  of  it. 

Ah,  little  Sister !  he  learned  its  value  one 
day. 


16  DOWN  THE  RAV1.\ 

The  great  wood  fire  was  all  aflare  in  the 
deep  chimney-place.  Savory  odors  came  from 
the  gridiron  and  the  skillet  and  the  hoe,  on 
the  live  coals  drawn  out  on  the  broad  hearth. 
The  tow-headed  children  grew  noisy  as  they 
assembled  around  the  bare  pine  table,  and 
began  to  clash  their  knives  and  forks. 

Birt,  unmindful,  crouched  by  the  hearth, 
silently  turning  his  precious  specimens  about, 
that  he  might  examine  them  by  the  firelight. 
Tennessee,  her  chuffy  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
for  she  could  reach  it  as  he  knelt,  held  her 
head  close  to  his,  and  looked  at  them  too  uith 
wide  black  eyes.  His  mother  placed  the  sup 
per  on  the  table,  and  twice  she  called  to  him 
to  come,  but  he  did  not  hear.  She  turned  and 
looked  down  at  him,  then  broke  out  sharply  in 
indignant  surprise. 

"  Air  ye  bereft  o'  reason,  Birt  Dicey  I  Ye 
set  thar  nosin*  a  handful  o'  rocks  ez  ef  they 
war  fitten  ter  eat !  An'  now  look  at  the  boy ! 
—  a  stuffin'  'em  in  his  pockets  ter  sag  'em 
down  and  tear  'em  out  fur  me  ter  sew  in  ag'in. 
Waal,  waai!  Sol'mon  say  ef  ye  spare  the 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  17 

rod  ye  spile  the  child  —  mos'  ennybody  could 
hev  fund  that  out  from  thar  own  'sperience ; 
but  the  wisest  man  that  ever  lived  lef  no 
receipt  how  ter  keep  a  boy's  pockets  whole 
in  his  breeches." 
2, 


CHATTER  rr. 

BIRT  DICET  lay  awake  deep  into  the  night, 
pondering  and  planning.  But  despite  this  un 
wonted  vigil  the  old  bark-mill  was  early  astir, 
and  he  went  alertly  about  his  work.  He  felt 
eager,  strong,  capable.  The  spirit  of  progress 
was  upon  him. 

The  tanyard  lay  in  the  midst  of  a  forest  so 
dense  that,  except  at  the  verge  of  the  clearing, 
it  showed  hardly  a  trace  of  its  gradual  despoli 
ation  by  the  industry  that  nestled  in  its  heart 
like  a  worm  in  the  bud.  There  were  many 
stumps  about  the  margin  of  the  woods,  the 
felled  trees,  stripped  of  their  bark,  often  lying 
among  them  still,  for  the  supply  of  timber  ex 
ceeded  the  need.  In  penetrating  the  wilder 
ness  you  might  mark,  too,  here  and  there,  a 
vacant  space,  where  the  chestnut-oak,  prized 
for  its  tannin,  had  once  grown  on  the  slope. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  19 

A  little  log  house  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
clearing.  It  had,  properly  speaking,  only  one 
room,  but  there  was  a  shed-room  attached,  for 
the  purpose  of  storage,  and  also  a  large  open 
shed  at  one  side.  The  rail  fence  inclosed  the 
space  of  an  acre,  perhaps,  which  was  covered 
with  spent  bark.  Across  the  pits  planks  were 
laid,  with  heavy  stones  upon  them  to  hold 
them  in  place.  A  rude  roof  sheltered  the 
bark-mill  from  the  weather,  and  there  was  the 
patient  mule,  with  Birt  and  a  whip  to  make 
sure  that  he  did  not  fall  into  reflective  pauses 
according  to  his  meditative  wont.  And  there, 
too,  was  Tennessee,  perched  on  the  lower 
edge  of  a  great  pile  of  bark,  and  gravely 
watching  Birt. 

He  deprecated  the  attention  she  attracted. 
He  was  sometimes  ashamed  to  have  the  persis 
tent  little  sister  seen  following  at  his  heels  like 
a  midday  shadow.  He  could  not  know  that 
the  men  who  stopped  and  spoke  to  him  and  to 
her,  and  laughed  at  the  infirmities  of  the  in 
fant  tongue  when  she  replied  unintelligibly, 
thought  better  of  him  for  his  manifestation  of 


20  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

strong  fraternal  affection.  They  said  to  each 
other  that  lie  was  a  "  peart  boy  an '  powerful 
good  tor  the  t'other  rhillYn,  an'  holju-d  the 
fainbly  along  ez  well  ez  a  man  —  better  'n  thai- 
dad  ever  done ; "  for  Birt's  father  liad  been 
characterized  always  as  "  slack-twisted  an'  on- 
lucky." 

The  shadows  dwindled  on  the  tan.  The 
winds  hail  furled  their  wings.  White  clouds 
rose,  dazzling,  opaque,  up  to  the  l>luc  /riiith. 
The  querulous  cicada  complained  in  the  laurel. 
Birt  heard  the  call  of  a  jay  from  the  woods. 
And  then,  as  he  once  more  urged  the  old  mule 
on,  the  busy  bark-mill  kept  up  such  a  whir 
that  he  could  hear  nothing  else.  He  was  not 
aware  of  an  approach  till  the  new-comer  was 
close  upon  him  ;  in  fact,  the  first  he  knew  of 
Nate  Griggs's  proximity  was  the  sight  of  him. 
Nate  was  glancing  about  with  his  usual  air 
of  questioning  disparagement,  and  cracking  a 
long  lash  at  the  spent  bark  on  the  ground. 

"  Hello,  Nate !  "  Birt  cried  out,  eagerly. 
"  I  'm  powerful  glad  ye  happened  ter  kern 
hyar,  fur  I  hev  a  word  ter  say  ter  ye." 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  21 

"  I  dunno  ez  I  'm  minded  ter  bide,"  Nate 
said  cavalierly.  "  I  hates  to  waste  time  an1 
burn  daylight  a-jowin'." 

He  was  still  cracking  his  lash  at  the  ground. 
There  was  a  sudden,  half-articulate  remon 
strance.  » 

Birt,  who  had  turned  away  to  the  bark-mill, 
whirled  back  in  a  rising  passion. 

"  Did  ye  hit  Tennessee  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a 
dangerous  light  in  his  eyes. 

"No  —  I  never !  "  Nate  protested.  " I  hain't 
seen  her  till  this  minute.  She  war  standin' 
a-hint  ye." 

"  Waal,  ye  skeered  her,  then,"  said  Birt, 
hardly  appeased.  "Quit  snappin'  that  lash. 
'Pears-like  ter  me  ez  ye  makes  yerself  power 
ful  free  round  this  hyar  tanyard." 

"  Tennie  air  a-growin'  wonderful  fast,"  the 
sly  Nathan  remarked  pleasantly. 

Birt  softened  instantly.  "  She  air  a  haffen 
inch  higher  'n  she  war  las'  March,  'cordin'  ter 
the  mark  on  the  door,"  he  declared,  pridefully. 
"  She  ain't  pretty,  I  know,  but  she  air  power 
ful  peart." 


22  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"  What  war  the  word  ez  ye  war  layin'  off 
ter  say  ter  me?"  Nate  asked,  curiosity  vividly 
expressed  in  his  face. 

Birt  leaned  back  against  the  pile  of  bark 
and  hesitated.  Last  night  he  h:ul  thought 
Nate  the  most  desirable  person  to  whom  he 
could  confide  his  secret  whose  aid  he  could 
secure.  There  were  many  circumstances  that 
made  this  seem  wise.  But  when  the  disclo 
sure  was  imminent,  something  in  those  small, 
bead-like  eyes,  unpleasantly  close  together, 
something  in  the  expression  of  the  thin,  pale 
face,  something  in  Nate's  voice  and  manner 
repelled  confidence. 

"  Nate,"  said  Birt,  at  last,  speaking  with 
that  subacute  conviction,  so  strong  yet  so  ill- 
defined,  which  vividly  warns  the  ill-judged  and 
yet  cannot  stop  the  tongue  constrained  by  its 
own  folly,  "  what  d'  ye  s'pose  I  fund  in  the 
woods  yestiddy  ?  " 

The  two  small  eyes,  set  close  together, 
seemed  merged  in  one,  so  concentrated  was 
their  gaze.  Again  their  expression  striu-k 
Birt's  attention.  He  hesitated  once  more. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  23 

"  Ef  I  tell  ye,  will  ye  promise  never  ter  tell 
enny  livin'  human  critter  ?  " 

"  I  hope  I  may  drap  stone  dead  ef  I  ever 
tell !  "  Nate  exclaimed. 

"  I  fund  a  strange  metal  in  the  woods  yes- 
tiddy.  What  d'  ye  s'pose  't  war  ?  " 

Nate  shook  his  head.  His  breath  was  quick 
and  he  could  not  control  the  keen  anxiety  in 
his  face.  A  strong  flush  rose  to  the  roots  of 
his  sandy  hair,  his  lips  quivered,  and  his  small 
eyes  glittered  with  greedy  expectation.  His 
tongue  refused  to  frame  a  word. 

"  Gold!  "  cried  Birt,  triumphantly. 

"  Whar  be  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Nate.  He  was 
about  to  start  in  full  run  for  the  spot. 

"  I  ain't  agoin'  ter  tell  ye,  without  we-uns 
kin  strike  a  trade." 

"  Waal,"  said  Nate,  with  difficulty  repress 
ing  his  impatience,  "  what  air  you-uns  aimin' 
ter  do?" 

"  Ye  knows  ez  I  hev  ter  bide  hyar  with  the 
bark-mill  mos'ly,  jes'  now,"  said  Birt,  begin 
ning  to  expound  the  series  of  ideas  which  he 
had  carefully  worked  out  in  his  midnight  vigil, 


24  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"  'kase  they  hev  got  ter  hev  a  heap  o'  tan  ter 
fill  them  thar  vats  ag'in.  Ef  I  war  ter  leave 
an'  go  a-golcl  huntin',  the  men  on  the  mount 
ing  would  find  out  what  I  war  arter,  an'  they  'd 
come  a-grabblin'  thar  too,  an'  mebbe  git  it  all, 
'kase  I  dunno  how  much  or  how  leetle  thar  be. 
I  wants  ter  make  sure  of  enough  ter  buy  a 
horse,  or  a  mule,  or  su'thin',  ef  I  kin,  'fore  I 
tells  ennybody  else.  An'  I  'lowed  ez  ye  an' 
me  would  go  pardners.  Ye  'd  take  my  place 
hyar  at  the  tanyard  one  day,  whilst  I  dug,  an' 
I'd  bide  in  the  tanyard  nex'  day.  An'  we 
would  divide  fair  an'  even  all  we  fund." 

Nate  did  not  reply.  He  was  absorbed  in 
a  project  that  had  come  into  his  head  as  his 
friend  talked,  and  the  two  dissimilar  trains 
of  thought  combined  in  a  mental  mosaic  that 
would  have  amazed  Birt  Dicey. 

"  Ye  see,"  Birt  presently  continued,  "  I 
dunno  when  I  kin  git  shet  o'  the  tanyard  this 
year.  Old  Jube  Perkins  'lows  ez  he  air 
mighty  busy  'bout'u  them  hides  an'  sech,  an' 
he  wants  me  ter  holp  around  giuerally.  He 
say  ef  I  do  mo'  work  'n  I  owes  him,  he  '11 


DOWN  THE  RA17NE.  25 

make  that  straight  with  my  mother.  An'  he 
declares  fur  true  ef  I  don't  holp  him  at  this 
junctry,  when  he  needs  me,  he  won't  hire  his 
mule  to  my  mother  nex'  spring ;  an'  ye  know 
it  won't  do  fur  we-uns  ter  resk  the  corn-crap 
an'  gyarden  truck  with  sech  a  pack  o'  chill'ii 
ter  vittle  ez  we-uns  hev  got  at  our  house." 

Nate  deduced  an  unexpected  conclusion. 
"  Ye  oughter  gin  me  more  'n  haffen  the  make," 
he  said.  "  'Kase  ef  'twarn't  fur  me,  ye  could 
nt'  git  none.  An'  ef  ye  don't  say  two  thurds, 
I  '11  tell  every  critter  on  the  mounting  an' 
they  '11  be  grabblin'  in  yer  gold  mine  d'rec'ly." 

"  Ye  dunno  whar  it  is,"  said  Birt,  quietly. 

If  a  sudden  jet  from  the  cold  mountain  tor 
rent,  that  rioted  through  the  wilderness  down 
the  ravine  hard  by,  had  been  dashed  into 
Nate's  thin,  sharp  face,  he  could  not  have  cooled 
more  abruptly.  The  change  almost  took  his 
breath  away. 

"I  don't  mean  that,  nuther,"  he  gasped  with 
politic  penitence,  "kase  I  hev  promised  not 
ter  tell.  I  dunno  whether  I  kin  holp  nohow. 
I  hev  got  ter  do  my  sheer  o'  work  at  home ; 


26  DOWN  THE  RAVIXE. 

we  ain't  through  pullin'  fodder  ofFn  our  late 
corn  yit." 

Birt  looked  at  him  in  silent  surprise. 

Nate  was  older  than  his  friend  by  several 
years.  He  was  of  an  unruly  and  insubordi 
nate  temper,  and  did  as  little  work  as  he 
pleased  at  home.  He  often  remarked  that  he 
\\ould  like  to  see  who  could  make  him  do 
what  he  had  no  mind  to  do. 

"Mebbe  old  Jube  would  n't  want  me  round 
'bout,"  he  suggested. 

"Waal,"  said  Birt,  eager  again  to  detail 
his  plans,  "he  'lowed  when  I  axed  him  this 
mornin'  ez  he'd  be  willin'  ef  I  could  trade 
with  another  boy  ter  take  my  place  wunst  in 
a  while." 

Nate  affected  to  meditate  on  this  view  of 
the  question.  "But  it  will  be  toler'ble  fur 
away  fur  me  ter  go  prowlin'  in  the  woods, 
a-huntin'  fur  gold,  an'  our  fodder  jes'  a-suf- 
ferin'  ter  be  pulled.  Ef  the  spot  air  fur  off, 
I  can't  come  an'  I  won't,  not  fur  haffen  the 
make." 

"  'T  ain't  fur  off  at  all  —  scant  haffen  mile," 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  27 

replied  unwary  Birt,  anxious  to  convince.  "  It 
air  jes'  yander  nigh  that  thar  salt  lick  down 
the  ravine.  I  marks  the  spot  by  a  bowlder  — 
biggest  bowlder  I  ever  see  —  on  the  slope  o' 
the  mounting." 

The  instant  this  revelation  passed  his  lips, 
regret  seized  him.  "  But  ye  ain't  ter  go  thar 
'thout  me,  ye  onderstand,  till  we  begins  our 
work." 

"  I  ain't  wantin'  ter  go,"  Nate  protested.  "  I 
ain't  sati'fied  in  my  mind  whether  I  '11  onder- 
take  ter  holp  or  no.  That  pullin'  fodder  ez  I 
hev  got  ter  do  sets  mighty  heavy  on  my  stom 
ach." 

"  Tim  an'  yer  dad  always  pulls  the  fodder 
an'  sech  —  I  knows  ez  that  air  a  true  word," 
said  Birt,  bluntly.  "An'  I  can't  git  away 
from  the  tanyard  at  all  ef  ye  won't  holp  me, 
'kase  old  Jube  'lowed  he  wouldn't  let  me 
swop  with  a  smaller  boy  ter  work  hyar;  an' 
all  them  my  size,  an'  bigger,  air  made  ter 
work  with  thar  dads,  'ceptin'  you-uns." 

Nate  heard,  but  he  hardly  looked  as  if  he 
did,  so  busily  absorbed  was  he  in  fitting  this 


28  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

fragment  of  fact  into  his  mental  mosaic.  It 
had  begun  to  assume  the  proportions  of  a  dis 
tinct  design. 

He  suddenly  asked  a  question  of  apparent 
irrelevancy. 

"  This  hyar  land  down  the  ravine  don't 
b'long  ter  yer  folkses  —  who  do  it  b'long  ter  ?  " 

"  Don't  b'long  ter  nobody,  ye  weasel ! "  Birt 
retorted,  in  rising  wrath.  "  D'  ye  s'pose  I  'd 
be  a-stealin'  of  gold  offn  somebody  else's 
land?" 

Nate's  sly,  thin  face  lighted  up  wonderfully. 
He  seemed  in  a  fever  of  haste  to  terminate 
the  conference  and  get  away.  He  agreed 
to  his  friend's  proposition  and  promised  to 
be  at  the  bark-mill  bright  and  early  in  the 
morning.  As  he  trudged  off,  Birt  Dicey  stood 
watching  the  receding  figure.  His  eyes  were 
perplexed,  his  mind  full  of  anxious  foreboding. 
He  hardly  knew  what  he  feared.  He  had  only 
a  vague  sense  of  mischief  in  the  air,  as  slight 
but  as  unmistakable  as  the  harbinger  of  storm 
on  a  sunshiny  summer  day. 

"  I  wisht  I  hed  n't  tole  him  nuthin',"  he 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  29 

said,  as  he  wended  his  way  home  that  night. 
"  Ef  my  mother  hed  knowed  bout'ii  it  all,  I 
would  n't  hev  been  'lowed  ter  tell  him.  She 
c?espises  the  very  sight  o'  this  hyar  Nate  Griggs 
—  an'  yit  she  say  she  dunno  why." 

After  supper  he  sat  gloomy  and  taciturn  in 
the  uninclosed  passage  between  the  two  rooms, 
watching  alternately  the  fire-flies,  as  they  in- 
starred  the  dark  woods  with  ever-shifting  gold 
sparks,  and  the  broad,  pale  flashes  of  heat 
lightning  which  from  time  to  time  illumined 
the  horizon.  There  was  no  motion  in  the 
heavy  black  foliage,  but  it  was  filled  with  the 
shrill  droning  of  the  summer  insects,  and  high 
in  the  branches  a  screech-owl  pierced  the  air 
with  its  keen,  quavering  scream. 

"  Tennessee ! "  exclaimed  Birt,  as  the  un 
welcome  sound  fell  upon  his  ear  —  "  Tennes 
see  !  run  an'  put  the  shovel  in  the  fire ! " 

Whether  the  shovel,  becoming  hot  among 
the  live  coals,  burned  the  owl  that  was  high  in 
the  tree-top  outside,  according  to  the  country 
side  superstition,  or  whether  by  a  singular  co 
incidence,  he  discovered  that  he  had  business 


80  DOWN  THE  RA17XE. 

elsewhere,  he  was  soon  gone,  and  the  night 
was  left  to  the  chorusing  katydids  and  tree- 
toads  and  to  the  weird,  fitful  illuminations  of 
the  noiseless  heat  lightning. 

Birt  Dicey  rose  suddenly  and  walked  away 
silently  into  the  dense,  dark  woods. 

"  Stop,  Tennessee !  ye  can't  go  too ! "  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Dicey,  appearing  in  the  doorway 
just  in  time  to  intercept  the  juvenile  excur 
sionist.  "  Ketch  her,  Rufus!  Ef  she  would  n't 
hev  followed  Birt  right  off  in  the  pitch  dark  I 
She  ain't  af eared  o'  nothin'  when  Birt  is^iar. 
Git  that  pomegranate  she  hed  an'  gin  it  ter 
her  ter  keep  her  from  hollerin',  Rufe ;  I  hed 
a  sight  ruther  hear  the  squeech-owe/." 

Tennessee,  overpowered  by  disappointment, 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep  upon  the  floor,  and 
then  ensued  an  interval  of  quiet.  Rufe,  a  tow- 
headed  boy  of  ten,  dressed  in  an  unbleached 
cotton  shirt  and  blue-checked  homespun  trou 
sers,  concluded  that  this  moment  was  the  ac 
cepted  time  to  count  the  balls  in  his  brother's 
shot-pouch.  This  he  proceeded  to  do,  with 
the  aid  of  the  sullen  glare  from  the  embers 


DOWN  TEE  RAVINE.  31 

within  and  the  fluctuating  gleams  of  the  light 
ning  without.  There  was  no  pretense  of  util 
ity  in  Rufe's  performance;  only  the  love  of 
handling  lead  could  explain  it, 

"Ye  hed  better  mind,"  his  mother  admon 
ished  him.  "  Birt  war  powerful  tried  the 
t'other  day  ter  think  what  hed  gone  with  his 
bullets.  He  '11  nose  ye  out  afore  long." 

"  They  hev  got  sech  a  fool  way  o'  slippin' 
through  the  chinks  in  the  floor,"  said  the  boy 
in  exasperation.  "  I  never  seen  the  beat !  An' 
thar  's  no  gittin'  them  out,  nuther.  I  snaked 
under  the  house  yestiddy  an'  sarched,  an' 
sarched !  —  an'  I  never  fund  but  two.  An' 
Towse,  he  dragged  hisself  under  thar,  too  — 
jes'  a-growlin'  an'  a-snappin'.  I  thought  fur 
sartin  every  minit  he  'd  bite  my  foot  off." 

He  resumed  his  self-imposed  task  of  count 
ing  the  rifle  balls,  and  now  and  then  a  sharp 
click  told  that  another  was  consigned  to  that 
limbo  guarded  by  Towse.  Mrs.  Dicey  stood 
in  silence  for  a  time,  gazing  upon  the  unuttera 
bly  gloomy  forest,  the  distant,  throbbing  stars, 
and  the  broad,  wan  flashes  at  long  intervals 
gleaming  through  the  sky. 


32  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"  It  puts  me  in  a  mighty  tucker  ter  hev  yer 
brother  a-settin'  out  through  the  woods  this 
hyar  way,  an'  a-leavin'  of  we-uns  hyar,  all 
by  ourselves  sech  a  dark  night.  I  'm  always 
af eared  thar  mought  be  a  bar  a-prowlin' 
round.  An'  the  cornfield  air  close  ter  the 
house,  too." 

"  Pete  Thompson  —  him  ez  war  yander  ter 
the  tanyard  day  'fore  yestiddy  with  his  dad," 
said  the  boy,  "he  tole  it  ter  me  ez  how  he 
seen  a  bar  las'  Wednesday  a-climbiii'  over  the 
fence  ter  thar  cornfield,  with  a  haffen  dozen 
roastin'-ears  under  his  arm  an'  a  watermillion 
on  his  head.  But  war  it  a  haffen  dozen  ?  I 
furgits  now  ef  Pete  said  it  war  a  haffen  dozen 
or  nine  ears  of  corn  the  bar  hed ; "  and  he 
paused  to  reflect  in  the  midst  of  his  important 
occupation. 

"  I  '11  be  bound  Pete  never  stopped  ter 
count  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Dicey.  "  Pick  that 
chile  up  an'  come  in.  I  'm  goin'  ter  bar  up 
the  door." 

Birt  Dicey  plodded  away  througli  the  deep 
woods  and  the  dense  darkness  down  the  ravine. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  33 

Although  lie  could  not  now  distinguish  one 
stone  from  another,  he  had  an  uncontrollable 
impulse  to  visit  again  the  treasure  he  had  dis 
covered.  The  murmur  of  the  gently  bubbling 
water  warned  him  of  the  proximity  of  the  deep 
salt  spring  almost  at  the  base  of  the  mountain, 
and,  guiding  himself  partly  by  the  sound,  he 
made  his  way  along  the  slope  to  the  great 
bowlder  beneath  the  cliffs  that  served  to  mark 
the  spot.  As  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  bowlder, 
he  experienced  a  wonderful  exhilaration  of 
spirit.  Once  more  he  canvassed  his  scheme. 
This  was  the  one  great  opportunity  of  his 
restricted  life.  Visions  of  future  possibilities 
were  opening  wide  their  fascinating  vistas.  He 
might  make  enough  to  buy  a  horse,  and  this 
expressed  his  idea  of  wealth.  "  But  ef  I  live 
ter  git  a  cent  out'n  it,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  I  '11  take  the  very  fust  money  I  kin  call  my 
own  an'  buy  Tennessee  a  chany  cup  an'  sarcer, 
an'  a  string  o'  blue  beads  an'  a  caliky  coat  — 
ef  I  die  fur  it." 

His  pleased  reverie  was  broken  by  a  sudden 
discovery.    He  was  not  standing  among  stones 

3 


84  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

about  the  great  bowlder;  no  —  his  foot  had 
sunk  deep  in  the  sand !  He  stooped  down  in 
the  darkness  and  felt  about  him.  The  spot 
was  not  now  as  he  had  left  it  yesterday  after 
noon.  He  was  sure  of  this,  even  before  a  fleet, 
wan  flash  of  the  heat  lightning  showed  him  at 
his  feet  the  unmistakable  signs  of  a  recent  ex 
cavation.  It  was  not  deep,  it  was  not  broad ; 
but  it  was  fresh  and  it  betrayed  a  prying  hand. 
Again  the  heat  lightning  illumined  the  wide, 
vague  sky.  He  saw  the  solemn  dark  forests ; 
he  saw  the  steely  glimmer  of  the  lick;  the 
distant  mountains  flickered  against  the  pallid 
horizon ;  and  once  more  —  densest  gloom. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  was  Nate  who  had  been  here,  —  Birt  felt 
sure  of  that ;  Nate,  who  had  promised  he 
would  not  come. 

Convinced  that  his  friend  was  playing  a 
false  part,  Birt  went  at  once  to  the  bark- mill 
in  the  morning,  confident  that  he  would  not 
find  Nate  at  work  in  the  tanyard  according  to 
their  agreement. 

It  was  later  than  usual,  and  Jubal  Perkins 
swore  at  Birt  for  his  tardiness.  He  hardly 
heard ;  and  as  the  old  bark-mill  ground  and 
ground  the  bark,  and  the  mule  jogged  around 
and  around,  and  the  hot  sun  shone,  and  the 
voices  of  the  men  handling  the  hides  at  the 
tanpit  were  loud  on  the  air,  all  his  thoughts 
were  of  the  cool,  dark,  sequestered  ravine, 
holding  in  its  cloven  heart  the  secret  he  had 
discovered. 


36  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

Ruf  us  happened  to  come  to  the  tanyard  to 
day.  Birt  seized  the  opportunity. 

"  Rufe,"  he  said,  "  ye  see  I  can't  git  away 
from  the  mill,  'kase  I  'm  'bleeged  ter  stay  hyar 
whilst  the  old  mule  grinds.  But  ef  ye  '11  go 
over  yander  ter  Nate  Griggs's  house  an'  tell 
him  ter  come  over  hyar,  bein'  ez  I  want  to  see 
him  partic'lar,  I  '11  fix  ye  a  squir'1-trap  before 
long  ez  the  peartest  old  Bushy-tail  on  the 
mounting  ain't  got  the  gumption  ter  git  out'n. 
An'  let  me  know  ef  Nate  ain't  thar." 

Rufe  was  disposed  to  parley.  He  stood  first 
on  one  foot,  then  on  the  other.  He  cast  calcu 
lating  eyes  at  the  bark-mill  and  out  upon  the 
deep  forest.  The  exact  date  on  which  this 
promise  was  to  be  fulfilled  had  to  be  fixed  be 
fore  he  announced  his  willingness  to  set  out. 

Ten  to  one,  he  would  have  gone  without  the 
bribe,  had  none  been  suggested,  for  he  loved 
the  woods  better  than  the  wood-pile,  and  a 
five-mile  tramp  through  its  tangles  wi-ark-d 
Li.s  bones  not  so  much  as  picking  up  a  single 
basketful  of  chips.  Some  boys'  bones  are  con 
stituted  thus,  strange  as  it  may  seem. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  37 

So  he  went  his  way  in  his  somewhat  eccen 
tric  gait,  compounded  of  a  hop,  and  a  skip, 
and  a  dawdle.  He  had  made  about  half  a 
mile  when  the  path  curved  to  the  mountain's 
brink.  He  paused  and  parted  the  glossy  leaves 
of  the  dense  laurel  that  he  might  look  out 
over  the  precipice  at  the  distant  heights.  How 
blue  —  how  softly  blue  they  were  !  —  the  end 
less  ranges  about  the  horizon.  What  a  golden 
haze  melted  on  those  nearer  at  hand,  bravely 
green  in  the  sunshine  !  From  among  the  beet 
ling  crags,  the  first  red  leaf  was  whirling  away 
against  the  azure  sky.  Even  a  buzzard  had  its 
picturesque  aspects,  circling  high  above  the 
mountains  in  its  strong,  majestic  flight.  To 
breathe  the  balsamic,  sunlit  air  was  luxury, 
happiness ;  it  was  a  wonder  that  Rufe  got  on 
as  fast  as  he  did.  How  fragrant  and  cool 
and  dark  was  the  shadowy  valley !  A  silver 
cloud  lay  deep  in  the  waters  of  the  "lick." 
Why  Rufe  made  up  his  mind  to  go  down 
there,  he  could  hardly  have  said  —  sheer  cu 
riosity,  perhaps.  He  knew  he  had  plenty  of 
time  to  get  to  Nate's  house  and  back  before 


88  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

dark.  People  who  sent  Rufe  on  errands  usu 
ally  reckoned  for  two  hours'  waste  in  each 
direction.  lie  had  no  idea  of  descending  the 
cliffs  as  Birt  had  done.  He  stolidly  retraced 
his  way  until  he  was  nearly  home ;  then 
scrambling  down  rocky  slopes  he  came  pres 
ently  upon  a  deer-path.  All  at  once,  he  no 
ticed  the  footprint  of  a  man  in  a  dank,  marshy 
spot.  He  stopped  and  looked  hard  at  it,  for 
he  had  naturally  supposed  this  path  was  used 
only  by  the  woodland  gentry. 

"  Some  deer  -  hunter,  I  reckon,"  he  said. 
And  so  he  went  on. 

With  his  characteristic  curiosity,  he  peered 
all  around  the  "  lick  "  when  he  was  at  l:i>t 
there.  He  even  applied  his  tongue,  calf-liko, 
to  the  briny  earth ;  it  did  not  taste  so  salty 
as  he  had  expected.  As  he  rolled  over  luxu 
riously  on  his  back  among  the  fragrant  sum 
mer  weeds,  he  caught  sight  of  something  in 
the  branches  of  an  oak  tree.  He  sat  up  and 
stared.  It  looked  like  a  rude  platform.  After 
a  moment,  he  divined  that  it  was  the  remnant 
of  a  scaffuld  from  which  some  early  settler  of 


DOWN  TEE  RAVINE.  39 

Tennessee  had  been  wont  to  fire  upon  the  deer 
or  the  buffalo  at  the  "lick,"  below.  Such 
relics,  some  of  them  a  century  old,  are  to  be 
seen  to  this  day  in  sequestered  nooks  of  the 
Cumberland  Mountains.  Rufe  had  heard  of 
these  old  scaffolds,  but  he  had  never  known  of 
the  existence  of  this  one  down  by  the  "  lick." 
He  sprang  up,  a  flush  of  excitement  contend 
ing  with  the  dirt  on  his  countenance  ;  he* set 
his  squirrel  teeth  resolutely  together ;  he  ap 
plied  his  sturdy  fingers  and  his  nimble  legs 
to  the  bark  of  the  tree,  and  up  he  went  like 
a  cat. 

He  climbed  to  the  lower  branches  easily 
enough,  but  he  caused  much  commotion  and 
swaying  among  them  as  he  struggled  through 
the  foliage.  An  owl,  with  great  remonstrant 
eyes,  suddenly  looked  out  of  a  hollow,  higher 
still,  with  an  inarticulate  mutter  of  mingled 
reproach,  and  warning,  and  anxiety.  Rufe 
settled  himself  on  the  platform,  his  bare  feet 
dangling  about  jocosely.  Then,  beating  his 
hands  on  either  thigh  to  mark  the  time  he 
sang  in  a  loud,  shrill  soprano,  prone  now  and 


40  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

then  to  be  flat,  and  yet,  impartially,  prone  now 
and  then  to  be  sharp  :  — 

Thar  war  two  tun-dogs  in  the  red  day-dawn, 

An'  the  wind  war  laid  —  't  war  prime  fur  game. 
I  went  ter  the  woods  betimes  that  morn, 
An'  tuk  my  flint-lock,  "Nancy,"  by  name; 
An'  thar  I  sec,  in  the  crotch  of  a  tree, 
A  great  big  catamount  grinnin'  at  me. 
A-kee!  he!  he!  An*  a-ho!  ho!  he! 
A  pop-eyed  catamount  laffin*  at  me ! 

And,  as  Rufe  sang,  the  anger  and  remon 
strance  in  the  owl's  demeanor  increased  every 
moment.  For  the  owl  was  a  vocalist,  too  ! 

Bein'  made  game  of  by  a  brute  beast  is, 
War  su'thin'  I  could  in  no  ways  allow. 

I  jes'  spoke  up,  for  my  dander  bed  riz, 
"  Cat  —  take  in  the  slack  o1  yer  jaw !  " 

He  bowed  his  back  —  Nance  sighted  him  gran', 

Then  the  blamed  old  gal  jes'  flashed  in  the  pan ! 

A-kee!  he!  he!  An' a-ho!  ho!  ).,•! 

With  a  outraged  catamount  rebukiu'  of  me ! 

As  Rufe  finished  this  with  a  mighty  cres 
cendo,  he  was  obliged  to  pause  for  breath. 
lie  stared  about,  gaspily.  The  afternoon  was 
waning.  The  mountains  close  at  hand  were 
a  darker  green.  The  distant  ranges  had  as 
sumed  a  rosy  amethystine  tint,  like  nothing 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  41 

earthly  —  like  the  mountains  of  a  dream,  per 
haps.  The  buzzard  had  alighted  in  the  top 
of  a  tree  not  far  down  the  slope,  a  tree  long 
ago  lightning-scathed,  but  still  rising,  gaunt 
and  scarred,  above  all  the  forest,  and  stretch 
ing  dead  stark  arms  to  heaven.  Somehow 
Rufe  did  not  like  the  looks  of  it.  He  was 
aware  of  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  of  the  ebbing 
away  of  his  merry  spirit  before  he  saw  more. 
As  he  tried  to  sing  :  — 

I  war  the  mightiest  hunter  that  ever  ye  see 
Till  that  thar  catamount  tuk  arter  me !  — 

his  tongue  clove  suddenly  to  the  roof  of  his 
mouth. 

He  could  see  something  under  that  tree 
which  no  one  else  could  see,  not  even  from 
the  summit  of  the  crags,  for  the  tree  was  be 
yond  a  projecting  slope,  and  out  of  the  range 
of  vision  thence. 

Eufe  could  not  make  out  distinctly  what  the 
object  was,  but  it  was  evidently  foreign  to  the 
place.  He  possessed  the  universal  human  weak 
ness  of  regarding  everything  with  a  personal 
application.  It  now  seemed  strange  to  him 


42  DOWN  THE  RAWNE. 

that  he  should  have  come  here  at  all ;  stranger 
still,  that  he  should  have  mounted  this  cjuerr 
relic  of  days  so  long  gone  by,  ami  thus  discov 
ered  that  peculiar  object  under  the  dead  tree. 
He  began  to  think  he  had  been  led  here  for  a 
purpose.    Now  Rufe  was  not  so  good  a  boy  as 
to  be  on  the  continual  lookout  for  rewards  of 
merit.     On  the  contrary,  the  day  of  reckoning 
meant  with  him  the  day  of  punishment     lie 
had  heard  recounted  an  unpleasant  supei 
tion  that  when  the  red  sunsets  were  flaming 
round  the  western  mountains,  and  the  valleys 
were  dark   and  drear,  and  the   abysses   and 
gorges    gloomed    full   of   witches    and   wi-inl 
spirits,  Satan  himself  might  be  descried,  walk 
ing  the  crags,  and  spitting  fire,  and  deporting 
himself  generally  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause 
great  apprehension  to  a  small  person  who  could 
remember  so  many  sins  as  Rufe  could.     His 
sins !  they  trooped  up  before  his  mental  vision 
now,  and  in  a  dense  convocation  crowded  the 
encompassing  wilderness. 

Rufe  felt  that  he  must  not  leave  this  matter 
in  uncertainty.     He  must  know  whether  that 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  43 

strange  object  under  the  tree  could  be  intended 
as  a  warning  to  him  to  cease  in  time  his  evil 
ways  —  tormenting  Towse,  pulling  Tennessee's 
hair,  shirking  the  woodpile,  and  squandering 
Birt's  rifle  balls.  He  even  feared  this  might 
be  a  notification  that  the  hour  of  retribution 
had  already  come ! 

He  scuttled  off  the  platform,  and  began  to 
swing  himself  from  bough  to  bough.  He  was 
nervous  and  less  expert  than  when  he  had 
climbed  up  the  tree.  He  lost  his  grip  once, 
and  crashed  from  one  branch  to  another, 
scratching  himself  handsomely  in  the  opera 
tion.  The  owl,  emboldened  by  his  retreat, 
flew  awkwardly  down  upon  the  scaffold,  and 
perched  there,  its  head  turned  askew,  and  its 
great,  round  eyes  fixed  solemnly  upon  him. 

Suddenly  a  wild  hoot  of  derision  rent  the 
air ;  the  echoes  answered,  and  all  the  ravine 
was  filled  with  the  jeering  clamor. 

"  The  wust  luck  in  the  worl ' !  "  plained 
poor  Rufe,  as  the  ill-omened  cry  rose  again 
and  again.  "  'Tain't  goin'  ter  s'prise  me  none 
now,  ef  I  gits  my  neck  bruk  along  o'  this 


44  DOWN  THE  RAWNE. 

resky  foolishness  in  this  cur'ous  place  whar 
owe/s  watch  from  the  lookout  ez  dead  men 
hev  lef '." 

He  came  down  unhurt,  however.  Then  he 
sidled  about  a  great  many  times  through  "  the 
laurel,"  for  he  could  not  muster  courage  for  a 
direct  approach  to  the  strange  object  he  had 
descried.  The  owl  still  watched  him,  and 
bobbed  its  head  and  hooted  after  him.  When 
he  drew  near  the  lightning -scathed  tree,  he 
paused  rooted  to  the  spot,  gazing  in  astonish 
ment,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  tow  head,  his 
eyes  opened  wide,  one  finger  inserted  in  his 
mouth  in  silent  deprecation. 

For  there  stood  a  man  dressed  in  black,  and 
with  a  dark  straw  hat  on  his  head.  He  had 
gray  whiskers,  and  gleaming  spectacles  of  a 
mildly  surprised  expression.  He  smiled  kindly 
when  he  saw  Rufe.  Incongruously  enough,  lie 
had  a  hammer  in  his  hand.  He  was  goini; 
down  the  ravine,  tapping  the  rocks  with  it. 
And  Rufe  thought  he  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  some  over-grown,  demented  woodpecker. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  Rufe  still  stood  staring,  the  old  gentle 
man  held  out  his  hand  with  a  cordial  gesture. 

"  Come  here,  my  little  man !  "  he  said  in  a 
kind  voice. 

Rufe  hesitated.  Then  he  was  seized  by 
sudden  distrust.  Who  was  this  stranger  ?  and 
why  did  he  call,  "  Come  here !  " 

Perhaps  the  fears  already  uppermost  in 
Rufe's  mind  influenced  his  hasty  conclusion. 
He  cast  a  horrified  glance  upon  the  old  gentle 
man  in 'black,  a  garb  of  suspicious  color  to 
the  little  mountaineer,  who  had  never  seen 
men  clad  in  aught  but  the  brown  jeans  habit 
ually  worn  by  the  hunters  of  the  range.  He 
remembered,  too,  the  words  of  an  old  song 
that  chronicled  how  alluring  were  the  invita 
tions  of  Satan,  and  with  a  frenzied  cry  he  fled 
frantically  through  the  laurel. 


46  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

Away  and  away  he  dashed,  up  steep  asrvnts, 
down  sharp  declivities,  falling  twice  or  thrice 
in  his  haste,  but  hurting  his  clothes  more  than 
himself. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  was  in  sight  of 
home,  and  Towse  met  him  at  the  fence.  The 
feeling  between  these  two  was  often  the  re 
verse  of  cordial,  and  as  Rufe  climbed  down 
from  rail  to  rail,  his  sullen  "Lenime  'lone, 
now!  "was  answered  by  sundry  snaps  at  his 
heels  and  a  low  growl.  Not  that  Towse  would 
really  have  harmed  him  —  fealty  to  the  f;im- 
ily  forbade  that ;  but  in  defense  of  his  ears 
and  tail  he  thought  it  best  to  keep  fierce  pos 
sibilities  in  RulV's  contemplation. 

Kufe  sat  down  on  the  floor  of  the  unin- 
closed  passage  between  the  two  rooms,  hi-; 
dangling  over  the  sparse  sprouts  of 
and  clumps  of  mullein  that  grew  just  benr.-ith, 
for  there  were  no  steps,  and  Towse  bounded 
up  and  sat  upright  close  beside  him.  Ami  as 
he  sought  to  lean  on  Towse,  the  dog  sought  to 
lean  on  him. 

They  both  looked  out  meditatively  at  the 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  47 

dense  and  sombre  wilderness,  upon  which  this 
little  clearing  and  humble  log-cabin  were  but 
meagre  suggestions  of  that  strong,  full-pulsed 
humanity  that  has  elsewhere  subdued  nature, 
and  achieved  progress,  and  preempted  perfec 
tion. 

Towse  soon  shut  his  eyes,  and  presently  he 
was  nodding.  Presumably  he  dreamed,  for 
once  he  roused  himself  to  snap  at  a  fly,  when 
there  was  no  fly.  Kufe,  however,  was  wide 
awake,  and  busily  canvassing  how  to  account 
to  Birt  for  the  lack  of  a  message  from  Nate 
Griggs,  for  he  would  not  confess  how  untrust 
worthy  he  had  proved  himself.  As  he  re 
flected  upon  this  perplexity,  he  leaned  his 
throbbing  head  on  his  hand,  and  his  attitude 
expressed  a  downcast  spirit. 

This  chanced  to  strike  his  mother's  atten 
tion  as  she  came  to  the  door.  She  paused  and 
looked  keenly  at  him. 

"  Them  hoss  apples  ag'in  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
with  the  voice  of  accusation.  She  had  no  idea 
of  youthful  dejection  disconnected  with  the 
colic. 


48  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

Rufe  was  roused  to  defend  himself.  "  Hain't 
teched  'em,  now ! "  he  cried,  acrimoniously. 

"  Waal,  sometimes  ye  air  sorter  loose- jointed 
in  yer  jaw,  an'  ain't  partie'lar  what  ye  say," 
rejoined  his  mother,  politely.  "  I  '11  waste  a 
leetle  yerb-tea  on  ye,  ennyhow." 

She  started  back  into  the  room,  and  Rufe 
rose  at  once.  This  cruelty  should  not  be  prac 
ticed  upon  him,  whatever  might  betide  him  at 
the  tan  yard.  He  set  out  at  a  brisk  pace.  He 
had  no  mind  to  be  long  alone  in  the  woods 
since  his  strange  adventure  down  the  ravine, 
or  he  might  have  hid  in  the  underbrush,  as  he 
had  often  done,  until  other  matters  usurped 
his  mother's  medicinal  intentions. 

When  Rufe  reached  the  tanyard,  Birt  was 
still  at  work.  He  turned  and  looked  eagerly 
at  the  juvenile  ambassador. 

"  Did  Nate  gin  ye  a  word  fur  me  ? "  he 
called  sonorously,  above  the  clamor  of  the 
noisy  bark-mill. 

"  He  say  he  '11  be  hyar  ter-morrer  by  sun 
up  !  "  piped  out  Rufe,  in  a  blatant  treble. 

A  lie  seemed  less  reprehensible  when  he 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  49 

was  obliged  to  labor  so  conscientiously  to 
make  it  heard. 

And  then  compunction  seized  him.  He  sat 
down  by  Tennessee  on  a  pile  of  bark,  and 
took  off  his  old  wool  hat  to  mop  the  cold  per 
spiration  that  had  started  on  his  head  and 
face.  He  felt  sick,  and  sad,  and  extremely 
wicked,  —  a  sorry  contrast  to  Birt,  who  was  so 
honest  and  reliable  and,  as  his  mother  always 
said,  "  ez  stiddy  ez  the  mounting."  Birt  was 
beginning  to  unharness  the  mule,  for  the  day's 
work  was  at  an  end. 

The  dusk  had  deepened  to  darkness.  The 
woods  were  full  of  gloom.  A  timorous  star 
palpitated  in  the  sky.  In  the  sudden  stillness 
when  the  bark-mill  ceased  its  whir,  the  moun 
tain  torrent  hard  by  lifted  a  mystic  chant. 
The  drone  of  the  katydid  vibrated  in  the  lau 
rel,  and  the  shrill-voiced  cricket  chirped.  Two 
of  the  men  were  in  the  shed  examining  a 
green  hide  by  the  light  of  a  perforated  tin 
lantern,  that  seemed  to  spill  the  rays  in  glint 
ing  white  rills.  As  they  flickered  across  the 
pile  of  bark  where  Rufe  and  Tennessee  were 

4 


60  DOWN  THE  RA  \7.\r. 

sitting,  he  noticed  how  alert  Birt  looked,  how 
bright  his  eyes  were. 

For  Birt's  hopes  were  suddenly  renewed, 
lie  thought  that  some  mischance  had  detained 
Nate  to-day,  and  that  he  would  come  to-mor 
row  to  work  at  the  bark-milL 

The  boy's  blood  tingled  at  the  prospect  of 
being  free  to  seek  for  treasure  down  the  ravine. 
He  began  to  feel  that  he  had  been  too  quick 
to  distrust  his  friend.  Perhaps  the  stipulation 
that  Nate  should  not  go  to  the  ravine  until 
the  work  commenced  was  more  than  he  ought 
to  have  asked.  And  perhaps,  too,  the  tres 
passer  was  not  Nate !  The  traces  of  shallow 
delving  might  have  been  left  by  another  hand. 

Birt  paused  reflectively  in  unharnessing  the 
mule.  He  stood  with  the  gear  in  one  hand, 
serious  and  anxious,  in  view  of  the  possibility 
that  this  discovery  was  not  his  alone. 

Then  he  strove  to  cast  aside  the  thought. 
He  said  to  himself  that  he  had  been  hasty  in 
concluding  that  the  slight  excavation  argued 
human  presence  in  that  lonely  spot;  a  rock 
dislodged  and  rolling  heavily  down  the  gorge 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  51 

might  have  thus  scraped  into  the  sand  and 
gravel;  or  perhaps  some  burrowing  animal, 
prospecting  for  winter  quarters,  had  begun  to 
dig  a  hole  under  the  bowlder. 

He  was  perplexed,  despite  his  plausible  rea 
soning,  and  he  continued  silent  and  preoccu 
pied  when  he  lifted  Tennessee  to  his  shoulder 
and  trudged  off  homeward,  with  Rufe  at  his 
heels,  and  the  small  boy's  conscience  following 
sturdily  in  the  rear. 

That  sternly  accusing  conscience !  Rufe 
was  dismayed,  when  he  sat  with  the  other 
laughing  children  about  the  table,  to  know 
that  his  soul  was  not  merry.  Sometimes  a 
sombre  shadow  fell  upon  his  face,  and  once 
Birt  asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  And 
though  he  laughed  more  than  ever,  he  felt 
it  was  very  hard  to  be  gay  without  the  subtle 
essence  of  mirth.  That  lie  !  —  it  seemed  to 
grow;  before  supper  was  over  it  was  as  big 
as  the  warping-bars,  and  when  they  all  sat  in 
a  semicircle  in  the  open  passage,  Rufe  felt  that 
his  conscience  was  the  most  prominent  mem 
ber  of  the  party.  The  young  moon  sank ;  the 


52  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

night  waxed  darker  still ;  the  woods  murmured 
mysteriously.  And  he  was  glad  enough  at  last 
to  be  sent  to  bed,  where  after  so  long  a  time 
sleep  found  him. 

The  morrow  came  in  a  cloud.  The  light 
lacked  the  sunshine.  The  listless  air  lacked 
the  wind.  Still  and  sombre,  the  woods  touched 
the  murky,  motionless  sky.  All  the  universe 
seemed  to  hold  a  sullen  pause.  Time  was 
afoot  —  it  always  is  —  but  Birt  might  not 
know  how  it  sped ;  no  shadows  on  the  spent 
tan  this  dark  day !  Over  his  shoulder  he  was 
forever  glancing,  hoping  that  Nate  would  pres 
ently  appear  from  the  woods.  He  saw  only 
the  mists  lurking  in  the  laurel ;  they  had  au 
tumnal  presage  and  a  chill  presence.  He  but 
toned  his  coat  about  him,  and  the  old  mule 
sneezed  as  he  jogged  round  the  bark-mill. 

Jubal  Perkins  and  a  crony  stood  smoking 
much  of  the  time  to-day  in  the  door  of  the 
house,  looking  idly  out  upon  the  brown  stretch 
of  spent  bark,  and  the  gray,  weatlit'i-l>caten 
sheds,  and  the  dun  sky,  and  the  shadowy,  mist- 
veiled  woods.  The  tanner  was  a  tall,  muscular 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  53 

man,  clad  in  brown  jeans,  and  with  boots  of  a 
fair  grade  of  leather  drawn  high  over  his  trou 
sers.  As  he  often  remarked,  "  The  tanyard 
owes  me  good  foot-gear  —  ef  the  rest  o'  the 
mounting  hev  ter  go  barefoot."  The  expres 
sion  of  his  face  was  somewhat  masked  by  a 
heavy  grizzled  beard,  but  from  beneath  the 
wide  brim  of  his  hat  his  eyes  peered  out  with 
a  jocose  twinkle.  His  mouth  seemed  chiefly 
useful  as  a  receptacle  for  his  pipe-stem,  for  he 
spoke  through  his  nose.  His  voice  was  stri 
dent  on  the  air,  since  he  included  in  the  con 
versation  a  workman  in  the  shed,  who  was 
scraping  with  a  two-handled  knife  a  hide 
spread  on  a  wooden  horse.  This  man,  whose 
name  was  Andrew  Byers,  glanced  up  now  and 
then,  elevating  a  pair  of  shaggy  eyebrows,  and 
settled  the  affairs  of  the  nation  with  diligence 
and  despatch,  little  hindered  by  his  labors  or 
the  distance. 

Birt  took  no  heed  of  the  loud  drawling  talk. 
In  moody  silence  he  drove  the  mule  around 
and  around  the  bark-mill.  The  patient  old 
animal,  being  in  no  danger  of  losing  his  way, 


54  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

closed  his  eyes  drowsily  as  he  trudged,  making 
the  best  of  it. 

"  I  '11  git  ez  mild-mannered  an'  meek-hearted 
ez  this  hyar  old  beastis,  some  day,  ef  things 
keep  on  ez  disapp'intin'  ez  they  hev  been 
lately,"  thought  Birt,  miserably.  "They  do 
say  ez  even  he  used  ter  be  a  tumble  kicker." 

Noon  came  and  went,  and  still  the  ini>ts 
hung  in  the  forest  closely  engirdling  the  little 
clearing.  The  roofs  glistened  with  moisture, 
and  the  eaves  dripped.  A  crow  was  cawing 
somewhere.  Birt  had  paused  to  let  the  mule 
rest,  and  the  raucous  sound  caused  him  to  turn 
his  head.  His  heart  gave  a  bound  when  he 
saw  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence  the  un 
derbrush  was  astir  along  the  path  which  wound 
through  the  woods  to  the  tanyard.  Somebody 
was  coming  ;  he  hoped  even  yet  that  it  might 
be  Nate.  He  eagerly  watched  the  rustling 
boughs.  The  crow  had  flown,  but  he  heard  as 
he  waited  a  faint  "caw!  caw!"  in  the  misty 
ilistamv.  AVhoever  the  newcomer  might  be, 
he  certainly  loitered.  At  last  the  leaves 
parted,  and  revealed  —  Itufe. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  55 

BIrt's  first  sensation  was  renewed  disap 
pointment.  Then  he  was  disposed  to  inves 
tigate  the  mystery  of  Nate's  non-appearance. 

"  Hello,  Rufe !  "  he  called  out,  as  soon  as 
the  small  boy  was  inside  the  tanyard,  "  be 
you-uns  sure  ez  Nate  said  he  'd  come  over  by 
sun-up  ?  " 

Eufe  halted  and  gazed  about  him,  endeav 
oring  to  conjure  an  expression  of  surprise  into 
his  freckled  face.  He  even  opened  his  mouth 
to  exhibit  astonishment  —  exhibiting  chiefly 
that  equivocal  tongue,  and  a  large  assortment 
of  jagged  squirrel  teeth. 

"  Hain't  Nate  come  yit  ?  "he  ventured. 

The  tanner  suddenly  put  into  the  conversa 
tion. 

"  War  it  Nate  Griggs  ez  ye  war  aimin'  ter 
trade  with  ter  take  yer  place  wunst  in  a  while 
in  the  tanyard  ?  " 

Birt  assented.  "  An'  he  'lowed  he  'd  be 
hyar  ter-day  by  sun-up.  Kuf  e  brung  that  word 
from  him  yestiddy." 

Rufe's  conscience  had  given  him  a  recess, 
during  which  he  had  consumed  several  horse- 


56  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

apples  in  considerable  complacence  and  a  total 
disregard  of  "  yerb  tea."  He  bad  climbed 
a  tree,  and  sampled  a  green  persimmon,  and 
he  endured  witb  fortitude  the  pucker  in  his 
mouth,  since  it  enabled  him  to  make  such 
faces  at  Towse  as  caused  the  dog  to  snap  and 
growl  in  a  frenzy  of  surprised  indignation. 
He  had  fashioned  a  corn-stalk  fiddle  —  that 
instrument  so  dear  to  rural  children !  —  and 
he  had  been  sawing  away  on  it  to  his  own  sat 
isfaction  and  Tennessee's  unbounded  admira 
tion  for  the  last  half -hour.  He  had  forgotten 
that  pursuing  conscience  till  it  seized  upon 
him  again  in  the  tanyard. 

"  Oh,  Birt,"  he  quavered  out,  suddenly,  "  I 
hain't  laid  eyes  on  Nate." 

Birt  exclaimed  indignantly,  and  Jubal  Per 
kins  laughed. 

"I  seen  sech  a  cur'ous  lookin'  man,  down 
in  the  ravine  by  the  lick,  ez  it  sot  me  all  cat- 
awampus !  "  continued  Kufe. 

As  he  told  of  his  defection,  and  the  false 
hood  with  which  he  had  accounted  for  it, 
Jubal  Perkins  came  to  a  sudden  decision. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  57 

"  Git  on  that  thar  mule,  Birt,  an'  ride  over 
ter  Nate's,  an'  find  out  what  ails  him,  ef  so  be 
ye  hanker  ter  know.  I  don't  want  nobody 
workin'  in  this  hyar  tanyard  ez  looks  ez 
mournful  ez  ye  do  —  like  ez  ef  ye  hed  been 
buried  an'  dug  up.  But  hurry  back,  'kase 
there  ain't  enough  bark  ground  yit,  an'  I  hev 
got  other  turns  o'  work  I  want  ye  ter  do  be 
sides  'fore  dark." 

"  War  that  Satan  ?  "    asked  Kufe  abruptly. 

"  Whar  ?  "  exclaimed  Birt,  startled,  and 
glancing  hastily  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Down  yander  by  the  lick,"  plained  Rufe. 

"  Naw ! "  said  Birt,  scornfully,  "  an'  nuth- 
in'  like  Satan,  I  '11  be  bound  !  " 

He  was,  however,  uneasy  to  hear  of  any 
man  down  the  ravine  in  the  neighborhood  of 
his  hidden  treasure,  but  he  could  not  now 
question  Rufe,  for  Jube  Perkins,  with  mock 
severity,  was  taking  the  small  boy  to  account. 

Byers  was  looking  on,  the  knife  idle  in  his 
hands,  and  his  lips  distended  with  a  wide  grin 
in  the  anticipation  of  getting  some  fun  out  of 
Rufe. 


58  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"  Look-a-hyar,  bub,"  said  Jubal  Perkins, 
with  both  hands  in  his  pockets  and  glaring 
down  solemnly  at  Kufo  ;  "ef  ever  I  ketches 
ye  goin'  of  yerrands  no  better' n  that  ag'in, 
I  'm  a-goin'  ter  —  tan  that  thar  hide  o* 
yourn." 

Rufe  gazed  up  depreeatingly,  his  eyes  wide 
ning  at  the  prospect  Byere  broke  into  a 
horse  laugh. 

"  We  've  been  wantin'  some  leetle  varmints 
fur  tanning  ennyhow,"  he  said.  "  Ye  '11  feel 
mighty  queer  when  ye  stand  out  thar  on  the 
spent  tan,  with  jes'  yer  meat  on  yer  bones, 
an  'look  up  an'  see  yer  skin  a-hangin'  along 
side  o'  the  t  'other  calves,  an'  sech  —  that  ye 
will!" 

"  An'  all  the  mounting  folks  will  be  remark- 
in'  on  it,  too,"  said  Perkins.  "NVhich  no  doubt 
they  would  have  done  with  a  lively  interest. 

"  I  reckon,"  said  Byers,  looking  specula- 
tively  at  Rufe,  "  ez  't  would  fcike  a  right  smart 
time  fur  ye  ter  git  tough  enough  ter  go  'bout 
in  respect'ble  society  ag'in.  'T  would  hurt  ye 
mightily,  I  'm  thinkin'.  Ef  I  war  you-una, 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  59 

I  'd  be  powerful  partic'lar  ter  keep  inside  o' 
sech  an  accommodatin'-lookin'  little  hide  ez 
yourn  be  fur  tanning." 

Rufe's  countenance  was  distorted.  He 
seemed  about  to  tune  up  and  whimper.  "  An' 
ef  I  war  you-uns,  Andy  Byers,  I  'd  find  su'- 
thin'  better  ter  do  'n  ter  bait  an'  badger  a  crit 
ter  the  size  o'  Rufe  !  "  exclaimed  Birt  angrily. 

"  That  thar  boy  's  'bout  right,  too  !  "  said 
the  man  who  had  hitherto  been  standing  silent 
in  the  door. 

"  Waal,  leave  Rufe  be,  Jubal !  "  said  Byers, 
laughing.  "  Ye  started  the  fun." 

"  Leave  him  be,  yerself,"  retorted  the  tanner. 

When  Birt  mounted  the  mule,  and  rode  out 
of  the  yard,  he  glanced  back  and  saw  that 
Rufe  had  approached  the  shed;  judging  by 
his  gestures,  he  was  asking  a  variety  of  ques 
tions  touching  the  art  of  tanning,  to  which 
Byers  amicably  responded. 

The  mists  were  shifting  as  Birt  went  on  and 
on.  He  heard  the  acorns  dropping  from  the 
chestnut-oaks  —  sign  that  the  wind  was  awake 
in  the  woods.  Like  a  glittering,  polished 


60  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

blade,  at  last  a  slanting  snnbcam  fell.  It  split 
the  gloom,  and  a  radiant  afternoon  seemed  to 
emerge.  The  moist  leaves  shone  ;  far  down 
the  aisles  of  the  woods  the  fugitive  mists,  in 
elusive  dryadic  suggestions,  chased  each  other 
into  the  distance.  Although  the  song-birds 
were  all  silent,  there  was  a  chirping  somewhere 
—  cheerful  sound!  He  had  almost  reached 
his  destination  when  a  sudden  rustling  in  the 
undergrowth  by  the  roadside  caused  him  to 
turn  and  glance  back. 

Two  or  three  shoats  lifted  their  heads  and 
were  gazing  at  him  with  surprise,  and  a  cer 
tain  disfavor,  as  if  they  did  not  quite  like  his 
looks.  A  bevy  of  barefooted,  tow-headed  chil 
dren  were  making  mud  pies  in  a  marshy  dip 
close  by.  An  ancient  hound,  that  had  re 
nounced  the  chase  and  assumed  in  his  old  age 
the  office  of  tutor,  seemed  to  preside  with  dig 
nity  and  judgment.  He,  too,  had  descried  the 
approach  of  the  stranger.  He  growled,  but 
made  no  other  demonstration. 

"  Whar  's  Nate  ?  "  Birt  called  out,  for  these 
were  the  children  of  Nate's  eldest  brother. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  61 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  reply.  Then 
the  smallest  of  the  small  boys  shrilly  piped 
out,  "  He  hev  gone  away  I  —  him  an'  gran'- 
dad's  claybank  mare." 

Another  unexpected  development !  "  When 
will  he  come  back  ?  " 

"  Ain't  goin'  ter  come  back  fur  two  weeks." 

"  Whar  'bouts  hev  he  gone  ?  "  asked  Birt 
amazed. 

"  Dunno,"  responded  the  same  little  fellow. 

"  When  did  he  set  out?" 

There  was  a  meditative  pause.  Then  en 
sued  a  jumbled  bickering.  The  small  boys, 
the  shoats,  and  the  hound  seemed  to  consult 
together  in  the  endeavor  to  distinguish  "  day 
'fore  yestiddy"  from  "las'  week."  The 
united  intellect  of  the  party  was  inadequate. 

"  Dunno  1 "  the  mite  of  a  spokesman  at  last 
admitted. 

Birt  rode  on  rapidly  once  more,  leaving  this 
choice  syndicate  settling  down  again  to  the 
mud  pies. 

The  woods  gave  way  presently  and  revealed, 
close  to  a  precipice,  Nate's  home.  The  log 


62  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

house  with  its  chimney  of  clay  and  sticks,  the 
barn  of  ruder  guise,  the  fodder-stuck,  the  ::-h- 
hopper,  and  the  rail  fence  were  all  imposed  in 
high  relief  against  the  crimson  west  and  the 
purpling  ranges  in  the  distance.  The  little 
cabin  was  quite  alone  in  the  world.  No  other 
house,  no  field,  no  clearing,  was  visible  in  all 
the  vast  expanse  of  mountains  and  valleys 
which  it  overlooked.  The  great  panorama  of 
nature  seemed  to  be  unrolled  for  it  only.  The 
seasons  passed  in  review  before  it.  The  moon 
rose,  waxing  or  waning,  as  if  for  its  behoof. 
The  sun  conserved  for  it  a  splendid  state. 

But  the  skies  above  it  had  sterner  moods, 
—  sometimes  lightnings  veined  the  familiar 
clouds;  winds  rioted  about  it;  the  thunder 
spoke  close  at  hand.  ^\.nd  then  it  was  that 
Mrs.  Griggs  lamented  her  husband's  course  in 
"  raisin'  the  house  hyar  so  nigh  the  bluffs  ez 
ef  it  war  an'  aigle's  nest,"  and  forgot  that  she 
had  ever  accounted  herself  "  sifflicated  "  when 
distant  from  the  airy  cliffs. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  now,  her  arms 
akimbo  —  an  attitude  that  makes  a  woman  of 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  63 

a  certain  stamp  seem  more  masterful  than  a 
man.  Her  grizzled  locks  were  ornamented  by 
a  cotton  cap  with  a  wide  and  impressive  ruffle, 
which,  swaying  and  nodding,  served  to  empha 
size  her  remarks.  She  was  conferring  in  a 
loud  drawl  with  her  husband,  who  had  let 
down  the  bars  to  admit  his  horse,  laden  with 
a  newly  killed  deer.  Her  manner  would  seem 
to  imply  that  she,  and  not  he,  had  slain  the 
animal. 

"  Toler'ble  fat,"  she  commented  with  grave 
self-complacence.  "  He  'minds  me  sorter  o' 
that  thar  tremenjious  buck  we  lied  las'  Sep 
tember,  lie  war  the  fattes'  buck  I  ever  see. 
Take  off  his  hide  right  straight." 

The  big  cap-ruffle  flapped  didactically. 

"  Lor'-a  -  massy,  woman !  "  vociferated  the 
testy  old  man ;  "  ain't  I  a-goin'  ter  ?  Ter  hear 
ye  a-jowin',  a-body  would  think  I  had  never 
shot  nothin'  likelier'n  a  yaller-hammer  sence 
I  been  born.  S'pos'n  ye  jes'  takes  ter  goin' 
a-huntin',  an'  skinnin'  deer,  an'  cuttin'  wood, 
an'  doin'  my  work  ginerally.  Pears-like  ye 
think  ye  knows  mo'  'bout'n  my  work  'n  I  does. 
Au'  I'll  bide  hyar  at  the  house." 


64  DOWN  THE. RAVINE. 

Mrs.  Griggs  nodded  her  head  capably,  in 
nowise  dismayed.  "I  dunno  but  that  plan 
would  work  mighty  well,"  she  said. 

This  conjugal  colloquy  terminated  as  she 
glanced  up  and  saw  Birt. 

"  Why,  thar  's  young  Dicey  a  -  hint  ye. 
Howdy  Birt  1  'Light  an'  hitch !  " 

"Naw  'm,"  rejoined  Birt,  as  he  rode  into 
the  enclosure  and  close  up  to  the  doors: 
"I  hain't  got  time  ter  'light."  Then  pre 
cipitately  opening  the  subject  of  his  mission. 
"  I  kem  over  hyar  ter  see  Nate.  Whar  hev 
he  disappeared  ter  ?  " 

"  Waal,  now,  that 's  jes'  what  I  'd  like  ter 
know,"  she  replied,  her  face  eloquent  with 
baffled  curiosity.  "  He  jes'  borried  his  dad's 
claybank  mare,  an'  sot  out,  an'  never  'lowed 
whar  he  war  bound  fur.  Nate  hev  turned 
twenty-one  year  old,"  she  continued,  "  an'  he 
'lows  he  air  a  man  growed,  an'  obligated  ter 
obey  nobody  but  hisself.  From  the  headin' 
way  that  he  kerries  on  hyar,  a-body  would 
s'pose  he  air  older  'n  the  Cumberland  Mount 
ings  !  But  he  hev  turned  twenty-one  —  that 's 
a  fac'  —  an'  he  voted  at  the  las'  election." 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  65 

(With  how  much  discretion  it  need  not  now 
be  inquired.) 

"  I  knows  that  air  true,"  said  Birt,  who  had 
wistfully  admired  this  feat  of  his  senior. 

"  Waal  —  Nate  don't  set  much  store  by 
votin',"  rejoined  Mrs.  Griggs.  "  Nate,  he  say, 
the  greatest  privilege  his  kentry  kin  confer  on 
him  is  ter  make  it  capital  punishment  fur  wim- 
men  ter  ax  him  questions  !  —  Which  I  hev 
done,"  she  admitted  stoutly. 

And  the  ruffle  on  her  cap  did  not  deny  it. 

"  Nate  air  twenty-one,"  she  reiterated.  "  An* 
I  s'pose  he  'lows  ez  I  hev  no  call  nowadays 
ter  be  his  mother." 

"  Hain't  ye  got  no  guess  whar  he  be  gone  ?  " 
asked  Birt,  dismayed  by  this  strange  new  com 
plication. 

"  Waal,  I  hev  been  studyin'  it  out  ez  Nate 
mought  hev  rid  ter  Parch  Corn,  whar  his 
great  -  uncle,  Joshua  Peters,  lives  —  him  that 
merried  my  aunt,  Melissy  Baker,  ez  war  a  wid- 
der  then,  though  born  a  Scruggs.  An'  then, 
ag'in,  Nate  mought  hev  tuk  it  inter  his  head 
ter  go  ter  the  Cross-roads,  a-courtin'  a  gal 
5 


66  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

thar  ez  he  hev  been  talkin'  about  powerful, 
lately.  But  they  tells  me,"  Mrs.  Griggs  ex 
postulated,  as  it  were,  "  that  them  gals  at  the 
Cross-roads  is  in  no  way  desirable,  —  specially 
this  hyar  Elviry  Mills,  ez  mighty  nigh  all  the 
boys  on  the  mounting  hev  los'  thar  wits  about, 
—  what  little  wits  ez  they  ever  hed  ter  lose, 
I  mean  ter  say.  But  Nate  thinks  he  hev  got 
a  right  ter  a  ch'ice,  bein'  ez  he  air  turned 
twenty-one." 

"  Did  he  say  when  he  'lowed  ter  come  back  ?  " 
Birt  asked. 

"  'Bout  two  or  three  weeks  Nate  laid  off  ter 
be  away ;  but  whar  he  hev  gone,  an'  what  's 
his  yerrand,  he  let  no  human  know,"  returned 
Mrs.  Griggs.  "  I  hev  been  powerful  agger- 
vated  'bout  this  caper  o'  Nate's.  I  ain't  afeard 
he  '11  git  hisself  hurt  no  ways  whilst  he  be 
gone,  for  Nate  is  mighty  apt  ter  take  keer 
o'  Nate."  She  nodded  her  head  convincingly, 
and  the  great  ruffle  on  her  cap  shook  in  cor- 
roboration.  "  But  I  hain't  never  hed  the  right 
medjure  o'  respec'  out'n  Nate,  an'  his  dad 
hain't,  nuther." 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  67 

Birt  listened  vaguely  to  this  account  of 
his  friend's  filial  shortcomings,  his  absent  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  wide  landscape,  and  his  mind 
busy  with  the  anxious  problems  of  Nate's 
broken  promises. 

And  the  big  red  ball  of  the  setting  sun 
seemed  at  last  to  roll  off  the  plane  of  the  ho 
rizon,  and  it  disappeared  amidst  the  fiery  em 
blazonment  of  clouds  with  which  it  had  en 
riched  the  west.  But  all  the  world  was  not  so 
splendid ;  midway  below  the  dark  purple  sum 
mits  a  dun,  opaque  vapor  asserted  itself  in 
dreary,  aerial  suspension.  Beneath  it  he  could 
see  a  file  of  cows,  homeward  bound,  along  the 
road  that  encircled  the  mountain's  base.  He 
heard  them  low,  and  this  reminded  him  that 
night  was  near,  for  all  that  the  zenith  was 
azure,  and  for  all  that  the  west  was  aglow. 
And  he  remembered  he  had  a  good  many  odd 
jobs  to  do  before  dark.  And  so  he  turned 
his  face  homeward. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BIRT  had  always  been  held  in  high  esteem 
by  the  men  at  the  tAnyard.  Suddenly,  how 
ever,  the  feeling  toward  him  cooled.  He  re 
membered  afterward,  although  at  the  time  he 
was  too  absorbed  to  fully  appreciate  it,  tluit 
this  change  began  one  day  shortly  after  he 
had  learned  of  Nate's  departure.  As  he  went 
mechanically  about  his  work,  he  was  pondering 
futilely  upon  his  friend's  mysterious  journey, 
and  his  tantalizing  hopes  lying  untried  in  the 
depths  of  the  ravine.  He  hardly  noticed  the 
conversation  of  the  men  until  something  was 
said  that  touched  upon  the  wish  nearest  his 
heart. 

"  I  war  studyin'  'bout  lettin'  Birt  hev  a  day 
off,"  said  the  tanner.  "  An'  ye  '11  bide  hyar." 

"  Naw,  Jube  —  naw  I  "  Andy  Byers  replied 
with  stalwart  independence  to  his  employer. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  69 

"  I  liev  laid  off  ter  attend.  Ef  ye  want  enny- 
body  ter  bide  with  the  tanyard,  an'  keer  fur 
this  hyar  pit,  ye  kin  do  it  yerse'f,  or  else  Birt 
kin.  /  hev  laid  off  ter  attend." 

Andy  Byers  was  a  man  of  moods.  His 
shaggy  eyebrows  to-day  overshadowed  eyes 
sombre  and  austere.  He  seemed,  if  possible, 
a  little  slower  than  was  his  wont.  He  bore 
himself  with  a  sour  solemnity,  and  he  was  at 
once  irritable  and  dejected. 

"  Shucks,  Andy !  ye  knows  ye  ain't  no  kin 
sca'cely  ter  the  old  woman ;  ye  could  n't  count 
out  how  ye  air  kin  ter  her  ter  save  yer  life. 
Now,  /'m  obleeged  ter  attend." 

It  so  happened  that  the  tanner's  great-aunt 
was  distantly  related  to  Andy  Byers.  Being 
ill,  and  an  extremely  old  woman,  she  was  sup 
posed  to  be  lying  at  the  point  of  death,  and 
her  kindred  had  been  summoned  to  hear  her 
last  words. 

"  I  hed  'lowed  ter  gin  Birt  a  day  off,  'kase 
I  hev  got  ter  hev  the  mule  in  the  wagon,  an' 
he  can't  grind  bark.  I  promised  Birt  a  day 
off,"  the  tanner  continued. 


70  DOWN  THE  11 A  VISE. 

"That  thar's  twixt  ye  an'  Birt.  I  hain't 
got  no  call  ter  meddle,"  said  the  obdurate 
Byers.  "Ye  kin  bide  with  the  tanyard  an' 
finish  this  job  yerse'f,  ef  so  minded,  /'m 
goin'  ter  attend." 

"  I  reckon  half  the  kentry-side  will  be  thar, 
an'  /  wants  ter  see  the  folks,"  said  Jubal  Per 
kins,  cheerfully. 

"  Then  Birt  will  hev  ter  bide  with  the  tan- 
yard,  an'  finish  this  job.  It  don't  lie  with  me 
ter  gin  him  a  day  off.  I  don't  keer  ef  he 
never  gits  a  day  off,"  said  Byers. 

This  was  an  unnecessarily  unkind  speech, 
and  Birt's  anger  flamed  out. 

"  Ef  we-uns  war  of  a  size,  Andy  Byers,"  he 
said,  hotly,  "  I  'd  make  ye  divide  work  a  leetle 
more  ekal  than  ye  does." 

Andy  Byers  dropped  the  hide  in  his  hands, 
and  looked  steadily  across  the  pit  at  Birt,  as 
if  he  were  taking  the  boy's  measure. 

"Ye  mean  ter  say  ef  ye  hed  the  bone  an* 
muscle  ye'd  knock  me  down,  do  ye?"  he 
sneered.  "Waal,  I'll  take  the  will  fur  the 
deed.  I'll  hold  the  grudge  agin  ye,  jes'  the 
same." 


DOWN  THE  RA11NE.  71 

They  were  all  three  busied  about  the  pit. 
The  hides  had  been  taken  out,  and  stratified 
anew,  with  layers  of  fresh  tan,  reversing  the 
original  order,  —  those  that  had  been  at  the  bot 
tom  now  being  placed  at  the  top.  The  opera 
tion  was  almost  complete  before  Jubal  Perkins 
received  the  news  of  his  relative's  precarious 
condition.  He  had  no  doubt  that  Birt  was 
able  to  finish  it  properly,  and  the  boy's  consci 
entious  habit  of  doing  his  best  served  to  make 
the  tanner's  mind  quite  easy.  As  to  the  day 
off,  he  was  glad  to  have  that  question  settled 
by  a  quarrel  between  his  employees,  thus  re 
lieving  him  of  responsibility. 

Birt's  wrath  was  always  evanescent,  and  he 
was  sorry  a  moment  afterward  for  what  he 
had  said.  Andy  Byers  exchanged  no  more 
words  with  him,  and  skillfully  combined  a  curt 
and  crusty  manner  toward  him  with  an  aspect 
of  contemplative  dreariness.  Occasionally,  as 
they  paused  to  rest,  Byers  would  sigh  deeply. 

"A  mighty  good  old  woman,  Mrs.  Price 
war."  He  spoke  as  if  she  were  already  dead. 
"A  mighty  good  old  woman,  though  small- 
sized." 


72  DOWN  THE  RAV1XE. 

"  A  little  of  her  went  a  long  way.  She  war 
eighty-four  year  old,  an'  kep'  a  sharp  tongue 
in  her  head  ter  the  las',"  rejoined  the  tanner, 
adopting  in  turn  the  past  tense. 

Rufe  listened  with  startled  interest.  Now 
and  then  he  cocked  up  his  speculative  eyes, 
and  gazed  fixedly  into  the  preternaturally  sol 
emn  face  of  Byers,  who  reiterated,  "  A  good 
old  woman,  though  small-sized." 

With  this  unaccustomed  absorption  Rufe's 
accomplishment  of  getting  under-foot  became 
pronounced.  The  tanner  jostled  him  more 
than  once,  Birt  stumbled  against  his  toes,  and 
Byers,  suddenly  turning,  ran  quite  over  him. 
Rufe  had  not  far  to  fall,  but  Byers  was  a  tall 
man.  His  arms  swayed  like  the  sails  of  a 
windmill  in  the  effort  to  recover  his  balance. 
He  was  in  danger  of  toppling  into  the  pit,  and 
in  fact  only  caught  himself  on  his  knees  at  its 
verge. 

"  Ye  torment !  "  he  roared  angrily,  as  he 
struggled  to  his  feet.  "  G'way  from  hyar,  or 
I  '11  skeer  ye  out'n  yer  wi: 

The  small   boy  ruefully  gathered  his  mem- 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  73 

bers  together,  and  after  the  men  had  started 
on  their  journey  he  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  wood 
hard  by  to  give  Birt  his  opinion  of  Andy 
Byers. 

"He  air  a  toler'ble  mean  man,  ain't  he, 
Birt?" 

But  Birt  said  he  had  no  mind  to  talk  about 
Andy  Byers. 

"  Skeer  me  !  "  exclaimed  Rufe,  doughtily. 
"  It  takes  a  heap  ter  skeer  Me  !  " 

He  got  up  presently,  and  going  into  the 
shed  began  to  examine  the  tools  of  the  trade 
which  were  lying  there.  He  had  the  two-han 
dled  knife,  with  which  he  was  about  to  try  his 
skill  on  a  hide  that  was  stretched  over  the 
beam  of  the  wooden  horse,  when  Birt  glanced 
up  and  came  hastily  to  the  rescue.  Rufe  was 
disposed  to  further  investigate  the  appliances 
of  the  tanyard  left  defenseless  at  his  mercy, 
but  at  last  Birt  prevailed  on  him  to  go  home 
and  play  with  Tennessee,  and  was  glad  enough 
to  see  his  tow-head,  with  his  old  hat  perched 
precariously  on  it,  bobbing  up  and  down 
among  the  low  bushes,  as  he  wended  his  way 
along  the  path  through  the  woods. 


74  DOWN  THE  RA17NE. 

The  hides  had  all  been  replaced  between 
layers  of  fresh  tan  before  the  men  left,  and 
Birt  had  only  to  fill  up  the  space  above  with  a 
thicker  layer,  ten  or  fifteen  inches  deep,  and 
put  the  boards  securely  across  the  top  of  the 
pit,  with  heavy  stones  upon  them  to  weight 
them  down.  But  this  kept  him  busy  all  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon. 

Rufe  was  pretty  busy  too.  When  he  came 
in  sight  of  home  Tennessee  was  the  first  object 
visible  in  the  open  passage.  The  sunshine 
slanted  through  it  under  the  dusky  roof,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  chestnut-oak,  hard  by,  dap 
pled  the  floor.  Lying  there  was  an  old  Mexi 
can  saddle,  for  which  there  was  no  use  since 
the  horse  had  died.  Tennessee  was  mounted 
upon  it,  the  reins  in  her  hands,  the  headstall 
and  bit  poised  on  the  peaked  pommel.  She 
jounced  back  and  forth,  and  the  skirts  of  the 
saddle  flapped  and  the  stirrups  clanked  on  the 
floor,  and  the  absorbed  eyes  of  the  little  moun 
taineer  were  fixed  on  space. 

Away  and  away  she  cantered  on  some  splen 
did  imaginary  palfrey,  through  scenes  where 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  75 

conjecture  fails  to  follow  her :  a  land,  doubt 
less,  where  all  the  winds  blow  fair,  and  spark 
ling  waters  run,  and  jeopardy  delights,  and 
fancy's  license  prevails  —  all  very  different, 
you  may  be  sure,  from  the  facts,  an  old  saddle 
on  a  puncheon  floor,  and  a  little  black-eyed 
mountaineer. 

How  far  Tennessee  journeyed,  and  how  long 
she  was  gone,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  She 
halted  suddenly  when  her  attention  was  at 
tracted  to  a  phenomenon  within  one  of  the 
rooms. 

The  door  was  ajar  and  the  solitary  Rufe  was 
visible  in  the  dusky  vista.  He  stood  before  a 
large  wooden  chest.  He  had  lifted  the  lid, 
and  kept  it  up  by  resting  it  upon  his  head, 
bent  forward  for  the  purpose,  while  he  rum 
maged  the  contents  with  vandal  hands. 

Tennessee  stared  at  him,  with  indignant  sur 
prise  gathering  in  her  widening  eyes. 

Now  that  chest  contained,  besides  a  meagre 
store  of  quilts  and  comforts,  her  own  and  her 
mother's  clothes,  the  fewer  garments  of  the 
boys  of  the  family  being  alternately  suspended 


76  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

on  the  clothes-line  and  their  own  frames.  She 
resented  the  sacrilege  of  Rufe's  invasion  of 
that  chest.  She  turned  on  the  saddle  and 
looked  around  with  an  air  of  appeal.  Her 
mother,  however,  was  down  the  hill  beside  the 
spring,  busy  boiling  soap,  and  quite  out  of 
hearing.  Tennessee  gazed  vaguely  for  a  mo 
ment  at  the  great  kettle  with  the  red  and  yel 
low  flames  curling  around  it,  and  her  mother's 
figure  hovering  over  it.  Then  she  looked  back 
at  Rufe. 

He  continued  industriously  churning  up  the 
contents  of  the  chest,  the  lid  still  poised  upon 
that  head  that  served  so  many  other  useful 
purposes  —  for  the  gymnastic  exhibition  in 
volved  in  standing  on  it ;  for  his  extraordinary 
mental  processes  ;  for  a  lodgment  for  his  old 
wool  hat,  and  a  field  for  his  crop  of  flaxen 
hair. 

All  the  instinct  of  the  proprietor  was  roused 
within  Tennessee.  She  found  her  voice,  a 
hoarse,  infantile  wheeze. 

"  Turn  out'n  chist !  "  she  exclaimed,  guttur 
al!^  "  Turn  out'n  chist  1  " 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  77 

Rufe  turned  his  tow-head  slowly,  that  he 
might  not  disturb  the  poise  of  the  lid  of  the 
chest  resting  upon  it.  He  fixed  a  solemn  stare 
on  Tennessee,  and  drawing  one  hand  from  the 
depths  of  the  chest,  he  silently  shook  his  fist. 
And  then  he  resumed  his  researches. 

Tennessee,  alarmed  by  this  impressive  dem 
onstration,  dismounted  hastily  from  the  saddle 
as  soon  as  his  threatening  gaze  was  withdrawn. 
She  tangled  her  feet  in  the  stirrups  and  her 
hands  in  the  reins,  and  lost  more  time  in 
scrambling  off  the  floor  of  the  passage  and 
down  upon  the  ground ;  but  at  last  she  was 
fairly  on  her  way  to  the  spring  to  convey  an 
account  to  her  mother  of  the  outlaw  in  the 
chest.  In  fact,  she  was  not  far  from  the  scene 
of  the  soap-boiling  when  she  heard  her  name 
shouted  in  stentorian  tones,  and  pausing  to 
look  back,  she  saw  Rufe  gleefully  capering 
about  in  the  passage,  the  headstall  on  his  own 
head,  the  bit  hanging  on  his  breast,  and  the 
reins  dangling  at  his  heels. 

Now  this  beguilement  the  little  girl  could 
never  withstand,  and  indeed  few  people  ever 


78  DOWN  THE  RA1'1.\. 

had  the  opportunity  to  drive  so  frisky  and 
high-spirited  a  horse  as  Rufe  was  when  he  con 
sented  to  assume  the  bit  and  bridle.  He  was 
rarely  so  accommodating,  as  he  preferred  the 
role  of  driver,  with  what  he  called  "a  pop- 
lasb.ee/"  at  command.  She  forgot  her  tell 
tale  mission.  She  turned  with  a  gurgle  of 
delight  and  began  to  toddle  up  the  hill  again. 
And  presently  Mrs.  Dicey,  glancing  toward 
the  house,  saw  them  playing  together  in  great 
amity,  and  rejoiced  that  they  gave  her  so  lit 
tle  trouble. 

They  were  still  at  it  when  Birt  came  home, 
but  then  Tennessee  was  tired  of  driving,  and 
he  let  her  go  with  him  to  the  wood-pile  and  sit 
on  a  log  while  he  swung  the  axe.  No  one 
took  special  notice  of  Rufe's  movements  in  the 
interval  before  supper.  He  disappeared  for  a 
time,  but  when  the  circle  gathered  around  the 
table  he  was  in  his  place  and  by  no  means  a 
non-combatant  in  the  general  onslaught  on  the 
corn-dodgers.  Afterward  he  came  out  in  the 
passage  and  sat  quietly  among  the  others. 

The  freshened  air  was  fragrant,  and  how 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  79 

the  crickets  were  chirring  in  th^  grass !  On 
every  spear  the  dew  was  a-glimmer,  for  a  lus 
trous  moon  shone  from  the  sky.  Somehow, 
despite  the  long  roads  of  light  that  this  splen 
did  pioneer  blazed  out  in  the  wilderness,  it 
seemed  only  to  reveal  the  loneliness  of  the 
forests,  and  to  give  new  meaning  to  the  solem 
nity  of  the  shadows.  The  heart  was  astir  with 
some  responsive  thrill  that  jarred  vaguely,  and 
was  pain.  Yet  the  night  had  its  melancholy 
fascination,  and  they  were  all  awake  later  than 
usual.  When  at  last  the  doors  were  barred, 
and  the  house  grew  still,  and  even  the  vigilant 
Towse  had  ceased  to  bay  and  had  lodged  him 
self  under  the  floor  of  the  passage,  the  moon 
still  shone  in  isolated  effulgence,  for  the  faint 
stars  faded  before  it. 

The  knowledge  that  in  all  the  vast  stretch 
of  mountain  fastnesses  he  was  the  only  human 
creature  that  beheld  it,  as  it  majestically 
crossed  the  meridian,  gave  Andy  Byers  a  for 
lorn  feeling,  while  tramping  along  homeward. 
He  had  made  the  journey  afoot,  some  eight 
miles  down  the  valley,  and  was  later  far  in  re- 


80  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

turning  than  others  who  had  heeded  the  sum 
mons  of  the  sick  woman.  For  she  still  lay 
in  the  same  critical  condition,  and  his  mind 
was  full  of  dismal  forebodings  as  he  toiled 
along  the  road  on  the  mountain's  brow.  The 
dark  woods  were  veined  with  shimmering  sil 
ver.  The  mists,  hovering  here  and  there, 
showed  now  a  blue  and  now  an  amber  gleam 
as  the  moon's  rays  conjured  them.  On  one 
side  of  the  road  an  oak  tree  had  been  uptorn 
in  a  wind-storm  ;  the  roots,  carrying  a  great 
mass  of  earth  with  them,  were  thrust  high  in 
the  air,  while  the  bole  and  leafless  branches 
lay  prone  along  the  ground.  This  served  as  a 
break  in  the  density  of  the  forest,  and  the 
white  moonshine  possessed  the  vacant  space. 

As  he  glanced  in  that  direction  his  heart 
gave  a  great  bound,  then  seemed  suddenly  to 
stand  still.  There,  close  to  the  verge  of  the 
road,  as  if  she  had  stepped  aside  to  let  him 
pass,  was  the  figure  of  an  old  woman  —  a  small- 
sized  woman,  tremulous  and  bent.  It  looked 
like  old  Mrs.  Price  !  As  he  paused  amazed, 
with  starting  eyes  and  failing  limbs,  the  wind 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  81 

fluttered  her  shawl  and  her  ample  sunbonnet. 
This  shielded  her  face  and  he  could  not  see 
her  features.  Her  head  seemed  to  turn  to 
ward  him.  The  next  instant  it  nodded  at  him. 
familiarly. 

To  the  superstitious  mountaineer  this  sug 
gested  that  the  old  woman  had  died  since  he 
had  left  her  house,  and  here  was  her  ghost 
already  vagrant  in  the  woods ! 

The  foolish  fellow  did  not  wait  to  put  this 
fancy  to  the  test.  With  a  piercing  cry  he 
sprang  past,  and  fled  like  a  frightened  deer 
through  the  wilderness  homeward. 

In  his  own  house  he  hardly  felt  more  se 
cure.  He  could  not  rest  —  he  could  not  sleep. 
He  stirred  the  embers  with  a  trembling  hand, 
and  sat  shivering  over  them.  His  wife,  will 
ing  enough  to  believe  in  "  harnts  "  1  as  appear 
ing  to  other  people,  was  disposed  to  repudiate 
them  when  they  presumed  to  offer  their  dubi 
ous  association  to  members  of  her  own  family 
circle. 

"  Dell-law ! "  she  exclaimed  scornfully.     "  I 

i  Ghosts. 
6 


82  DOWN  THE  RAWNE. 

say  harnt !  OH  Mrs.  Price,  though  spry  ter 
the  las',  war  so  proud  o'  her  age  an'  her  ail 
ments  that  she  would  n't  hev  nobody  see  her 
walk  a  step,  or  stand  on  her  feet,  fur  nuth- 
in'.  Her  darter-in-law  tole  me  ez  the  only 
way  ter  find  out  how  nimble  she  really  be 
war  ter  box  one  o'  her  gran'chiU'n,  an'  then 
she'd  bounce  out'n  her  cheer,  an'  jounce 
round  the  room  after  thar  daddy  or  mammy, 
whichever  hed  boxed  the  chilTn.  That  fur- 
saken  couple  always  hed  ter  drag  thar  chiU'n 
out  in  the  woods,  out'n  earshot  of  the  house, 
ter  whip  'em,  an'  then  threat  'em  ef  they 
dare  let  thar  granny  know  they  hed  been 
struck.  But  else  wise  she  hed  ter  be  lifted 
from  her  bed  ter  her  cheer  by  the  hVth.  She 
wouldn't  hev  her  spent  seen  a-walkhf  way  up 
hyar  a-top  o'  the  mounting,  like  enny  healthy 
harnt,  fur  nuthin'  in  this  worl'.  Whatever 
'twar,  'twarn't  her.  An'  I  reckon  ef  the  truth 
war  knowed,  't  warn't  nuthin'  at  all  —  f org, 
mebbe." 

This  stalwart  reasoning  served  to  steady  his 
nerves  a  little.     And  when   the  moon   went 


A    ;•- 


H  < 
'Z 
Ed 
PQ 

w" 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  83 

down  and  the  day  was  slowly  breaking,  he  took 
his  way,  with  a  vacillating  intention  and  many 
a  chilling  doubt,  along  the  winding  road  to 
the  scene  of  his  fright. 

It  was  not  yet  time  by  a  good  hour  or  more 
to  go  to  work,  and  nothing  was  stirring.  A 
wan  light  was  on  the  landscape  when  he  came 
in  sight  of  the  great  tree  prone  upon  the 
ground.  And  there,  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
road,  as  if  she  had  stepped  aside  to  let  him 
pass,  was  the  figure  of  a  little,  bent  old  woman 
—  nay,  in  the  brightening  dawn,  a  bush  —  a 
blackberry  bush,  clad  in  a  blue-checked  apron, 
a  red  plaid  shawl,  and  with  a  neat  sunbonnet 
nodding  on  its  topmost  spray. 

His  first  emotion  was  intense  relief.  Then 
he  stood  staring  at  the  bush  in  rising  indigna 
tion.  This  sandy  by-way  of  a  road  led  only 
to  his  own  house,  and  this  image  of  a  small 
and  bent  old  woman  had  doubtless  been  de 
vised,  to  terrify  him,  by  some  one  who  knew 
of  his  mission,  and  that  he  could  not  return 
except  by  this  route. 

Only  for  a  moment  did  he  feel  uncertain 


84  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

as  to  the  ghost-maker's  identity.  There  was 
something  singularly  familiar  to  him  in  the 
plaid  of  the  shawl  —  even  in  the  appearance 
of  the  bonnet,  although  it  was  now  limp  and 
damp.  He  saw  it  at  "  meet'n  **  whenever  the 
circuit  rider  preached,  and  he  presently  recog 
nized  it  This  was  Mrs.  Dicey's  bonnet  1 

His  face  hardened.  He  set  his  teeth  to 
gether.  An  angry  flush  flared  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair. 

Not  that  he  suspected  the  widow  of  having 
set  this  trap  to  frighten  him.  He  was  not 
learned,  nor  versed  in  feminine  idiosyncrasies, 
but  it  does  not  require  much  wisdom  to  know 
that  on  no  account  whatever  does  a  woman's 
best  bonnet  stay  out  all  night  in  the  dew,  in 
tentionally.  The  presence  of  her  bonnet 
proved  the  widow's  alibi. 

Like  a  flash  he  remembered  Birt's  anger 
the  previous  day.  "  Told  me  he  'd  make  me 
divide  work  mo'  ekal,  an'  ez  good  ez  said  he  'd 
knock  me  down  ef  he  could.  An'  I  told  him 
I  'd  hold  the  grudge  agin  him  jes'  the  same  — 
an'Iwilll" 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  85 

He  felt  sure  that  it  was  Birt  who  had  thus 
taken  revenge,  because  he  was  kept  at  work 
while  his  fellow-laborer  was  free  to  go. 

Byers  thought  the  boy  would  presently  come 
to  take  the  garments  home,  and  conceal  his 
share  in  the  matter,  before  any  one  else  would 
be  likely  to  stir  abroad. 

"  An'  I  '11  hide  close  by  with,  a  good  big 
hickory  stick,  an'  I  '11  gin  him  a  larrupin'  ez 
he  won't  furgit  in  a  month  o'  Sundays,"  he 
resolved,  angrily. 

He  opened  his  clasp-knife,  and  walked  slow 
ly  into  the  woods,  looking  about  for  a  choice 
hickory  sprout.  He  did  not  at  once  find  one 
of  a  size  that  he  considered  appropriate  to  the 
magnitude  of  Birt's  wickedness,  and  he  went 
further  perhaps  than  he  realized,  and  stayed 
longer. 

He  had  a  smile  of  stern  satisfaction  on  his 
face  when  he  was  lopping  off  the  leaves  and 
twigs  of  a  specimen  admirably  adapted  for 
vengeance.  He  was  stealthy  in  returning, 
keeping  behind  the  trees,  and  slipping  softly 
from  bole  to  bole.  At  last,  as  the  winding 


86  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

road  was  once  more  in  view,  he  crouched  down 
behind  the  roots  of  the  great  fallen  oak. 

"  I  don't  want  him  ter  git  a  glimge  of  me, 
an'  skeer  him  off  afore  I  kin  lay  a-holt  on 
him,"  he  said. 

He  intended  to  keep  the  neighboring  bush 
under  close  watch,  and  through  the  interlac 
ing  roots  he  peered  out  furtively  at  it.  His 
eyes  distended  and  he  hastily  rose  from  his 
hiding-place. 

The  blackberry  bush  was  swaying  in  the 
wind,  clothed  only  in  its  own  scant  and  rusty 
leaves.  A  wren  perched  on  a  spray,  chirped 
cheerful 


CHAPTER  VI. 

His  scheme  was  thwarted.  The  boy  had 
come  and  gone  in  his  absence,  all  unaware  of 
his  proximity  and  the  impending  punishment 
so  narrowly  escaped. 

But  when  Andy  Byers  reached  the  tanyard 
and  went  to  work,  he  said  nothing  to  Birt. 
He  did  not  even  allude  to  the  counterfeit  ap 
parition  in  the  woods,  although  Mrs.  Price's 
probable  recovery  was  more  than  once  under 
discussion  among  the  men  who  came  and  went, 
—  indeed,  she  lived  many  years  thereafter,  to 
defend  her  lucky  grandchildren  against  every 
device  of  discipline.  Byers  had  given  heed  to 
more  crafty  counsels.  On  the  whole  he  was 
now  glad  that  he  had  not  had  the  opportunity 
to  make  Birt  and  the  hickory  sprout  acquaint 
ed  with  each  other.  This  would  be  an  ac 
knowledgment  that  he  had  been  terrified  by 


88  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

the  manufactured  ghost,  and  he  preferred 
foregoing  open  revenge  to  encountering  the 
jocose  tanner's  ridicule,  and  the  gibes  that 
would  circulate  at  his  expense  throughout  the 
country-side.  But  he  cherished  the  grievance, 
and  he  resolved  that  Birt  should  rue  it.  He 
had  expected  that  Birt  would  boast  of  having 
frightened  him.  He  intended  to  admit  that 

o 

he  had  been  a  trifle  startled,  and  in  treating 
the  matter  thus  lightly  he  hoped  it  would  seem 
that  the  apparition  was  a  failure. 

However,  day  by  day  passed  and  nothing 
was  said.  The  ghost  vanished  as  mysteriously 
as  it  had  come.  Only  Mrs.  Dicey,  taking  her 
bonnet  and  apron  and  shawl  from  the  chest, 
was  amazed  at  the  extraordinary  manner  in 
which  they  were  folded  and  at  their  limp  con 
dition,  and  when  she  found  a  bunch  of  cockle- 
burs  in  the  worsted  fringes  of  the  shawl 
she  declared  that  witches  must  have  had  it, 
for  she  had  not  worn  it  since  early  in  April 
when  there  were  no  cockle-burs.  She  forth 
with  nailed  a  horseshoe  on  the  door  to  keep 
the  witches  out,  and  she  never  liked  the  shawl 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  89 

so  well  after  she  had  projected  a  mental 
picture  of  a  lady  wearing  it,  riding  on  a 
broomstick,  and  sporting  also  a  long  peaked 
nose. 

Birt  hardly  noticed  the  crusty  and  ungra 
cious  conduct  of  Andy  Byers  toward  him. 
He  worked  on  doggedly,  scheming  all  the  time 
to  get  off  from  the  tanyard,  and  wondering 
again  and  again  why  Nate  had  gone,  and 
where,  and  when  he  would  return. 

One  day  —  a  gray  day  it  was  and  threaten 
ing  rain  —  as  he  came  suddenly  out  of  the 
shed,  he  saw  a  boy  at  the  bars.  It  was  Nate 
Griggs  !  No ;  only  for  a  moment  he  thought 
this  was  Nate.  But  this  fellow's  eyes  were 
not  so  close  together ;  his  hair  was  less  sandy ; 
there  were  no  facial  indications  of  extreme 
slyness.  It  was  only  Nathan's  humble  like 
ness,  his  younger  brother,  Timothy. 

He  had  Nate's  coat  thrown  over  his  arm, 
and  he  shouldered  his  brother's  rifle. 

Tim  came  slouching  slowly  into  the  tan- 
yard,  a  good-natured  grin  on  his  face.  He 
paused  only  to  knock  Rufe's  hat  over  his  eyes, 


90  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

as  the  small  boy  stood  in  front  of  the  low- 
spirited  mule,  both  hands  busy  with  the  ani 
mal's  mouth,  striving  to  open  his  jaws  to  judge 
by  his  teeth  how  old  he  might  be. 

"The  critter '11  bite  ye,  Rufe!"  Birt  ex 
claimed,  for  as  Rufe  stooped  to  pick  up  his 
hat  the  mule  showed  some  curiosity  in  his 
turn,  and  was  snuffling  at  Rufe's  hay-colored 
hair. 

Rufe  readjusted  his  head-gear,  and  ceasing 
his  impolite  researches  into  the  mule's  age, 
came  up  to  the  other  two  boys.  Tim  had 
paused  by  the  shed,  and  leaning  upon  the  rifle, 
began  to  talk. 

"  I  war  a-passin'  by,  an'  I  thought  I  'd  drap 
in  on  ye." 

."Hev  you-uns  hearn  from  Nate  since  he 
hev  been  gone  away?"  demanded  Birt  anx 
iously. 

"  He  hev  come  home,"  responded  Tim. 

"  When  did  he  git  home  ?  "  Birt  asked  with 
increasing  suspicion. 

"  Las'  week,"  said  Tim  carelessly. 

Another  problem !    Why  had  Nate  not  com- 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  91 

nmnicated  with  his  partner  about  their  pro 
posed  work?  It  seemed  a  special  avoidance. 

"I  onderstood  ez  how  he  aimed  ter  bide 
away  longer,"  Birt  remarked. 

"  He  did  count  on  stayin'  longer,"  said  Tim, 
"  but  he  rid  night  an'  day  ter  git  hyar  sooner. 
It  'pears  like  ter  me  he  war  in  sech  a  hurry  so 
ez  ter  start  me  ter  work,  and  nuthin'  else  in 
this  worl'.  I  owe  Nate  a  debt,  ye  see,  an'  I 
hev  ter  work  it  out.  I  hev  been  so  onlucky 
ez  I  could  n't  make  out  ter  pay  him  nohow  in 
the  worl'.  Ye  see,  I  traded  with  Nate  fur  a 
shoat,  an'  the  spiteful  beastis  sneaked  out'n 
my  pen,  an'  went  rootin'  round  the  aidge  o' 
the  clearin',  an'  war  toted  off  bodaciously  by 
a  bar  ez  war  a-prowlin'  round  thar.  An'  I  got 
no  good  o'  that  thar  shoat,  'kase  the  bar  hed 
him,  but  I  hed  to  pay  fur  him  all  the  same. 
An'  dad  gin  his  cornsent  ter  Nate  ter  let  me 
work  a  month  an'  better  fur  him,  ter  pay  out'n 
debt  fur  the  shoat." 

"What  work  be  you-uns  goin'  ter  do?" 
Birt  had  a  strong  impression,  amounting  to  a 
conviction,  that  there  was  something  behind 
all  this,  which  he  was  slowly  approaching. 


92  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"  Why,"  said  Tim,  in  surprise, "  hain't  ye 
hearn  bout'n  Nate's  new  land  what  he  hev  jes' 
got  'entered'  ez  he  calls  it?  He  hev  got  a 
grant  fur  it  from  the  land-office  down  yander 
in  Sparty,  whar  he  hev  been." 

"  New  land  —  *  entered  I ' "  faltered  Birt. 

Tim  nodded.  "Nate  fund  a  trac'  o'  land 
a-layin'  ter  suit  his  mind  what  b'longed  ter 
nobody  but  the  State  —  vacant  land,  ye  see  — 
an'  so  he  went  ter  the  *  entry-taker,'  they  calls 
him,  an'  gits  it  'entered,'  an'  the  surveyor 
kem  an'  medjured  it,  an'  then  Nate  got  a 
grant  fur  it,  an'  now  it  air  his' a.  The  Gov'nor 
o'  the  State  hev  sot  his  name  ter  that  thar 
grant  —  the  Gov'nor  o'  Tennessee !  "  reiterated 
Tim  pridefully.  "An'  the  great  seal  o'  the 
State!" 

"  Whar  be  the  land  ?  "  gasped  Birt,  possessed 
by  a  dreadful  fear. 

His  face  was  white,  its  muscles  rigid.  Its 
altered  expression  could  not  for  an  instant 
have  escaped  the  notice  of  Timothy's  brother 
Nathan. 

"Why,  it  lays  bout'n  haffen  mile  off  —  all 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  93 

down  the  ravine  nigh  that  thar  salt-lick ;  but 
look-a-hyar,  Birt  —  what  ails  ye  ?  " 

The  stunned  despair  in  the  white  face  had 
at  last  arrested  his  careless  attention. 

"  Don't  ye  be  mindin'  of  me  —  I  feel  sorter 
porely  an'  sick  all  of  a  suddint ;  tell  on  'bout 
the  land  an'  sech,"  said  Birt. 

He  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  wood-pile, 
and  Tim,  still  leaning  on  the  rifle,  recom 
menced.  He  was  generally  much  cowed  and 
kept  down  by  Nate,  and  was  unaccustomed  to 
respect  and  consideration.  Therefore  he  felt 
a  certain  gratification  in  having  so  attentive  a 
listener. 

"Waal,  I  never  hearn  o'  this  fashion  o* 
enterin'  land  like  Nate  done  in  all  my  life 
afore ;  though  dad  say  that 's  the  law  in  Ten 
nessee,  ter  git  a  title  ter  vacant  land  ez  jes' 
b'longs  ter  the  State.  Mebbe  them  air  the 
ways  ez  Nate  Tarned  whilst  he  war  a-hangin' 
round  the  Settlemint  so  constant,  an'  forever 
talkin'  ter  the  men  thar." 

Birt's  precocity  had  never  let  him  feel  at  a 
disadvantage  with  Nate,  although  his  friend 


94  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

was  five  years  older.  Now  he  began  to  appre 
ciate  that  Nate  was  indeed  a  man  grown,  and 
had  become  sophisticated  in  the  ways  of  his 
primitive  world  by  his  association  with  the 
other  men  at  the  Settlement. 

There  was  a  pause.  But  the  luxury  of  being 
allowed  to  talk  without  contradiction  or  re 
buke  presently  induced  Tim  to  proceed. 

"  He  war  hyar  mighty  nigh  all  day  long," 
he  said  reflectively.  "He  eat  his  dinner  along 
of  we-uns." 

"Who?  the  Gov'nor  o'  the  State?"  ex 
claimed  Birt,  astounded. 

"  Naw,  't  war  n't  Aim,"  Tim  admitted  some 
what  reluctantly,  since  Birt  seemed  disposed 
to  credit  "  we-uns  "  with  a  gubernatorial  guest. 
"It's  the  surveyor  I'm  talkin'  'bout.  Nate 
hed  ter  pay  him  three  dollars  an'  better  fur 
medjurin'  the  land.  He  tole  Nate  ez  his  land 
war  ez  steep  an'  rocky  a  spot  ez  thar  war 
in  Tennessee  from  e-end  ter  e-end.  He  axed 
Nate  what  ailed  him  ter  hanker  ter  pay  taxes 
on  sech  a  pack  o'  bowlders  an'  bresh.  He 
'lowed  the  land  war  n't  wuth  a  cent  an  acre." 


DOWN  TUB  RAVINE.  95 

"What  did  Nate  say?"  asked  Birt,  who 
hung  with  feverish  interest  on  every  thought 
less  word. 

"  Waal,  Nate  'lows  ez  he  hev  fund  a  cur'ous 
metal  on  his  land;  he  say  it  air  gold!"  Tim 
opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and  smacked  his 
lips,  as  if  the  word  tasted  good.  "  He  'lowed 
ez  he  needn't  hev  been  in  sech  a  hurry  ter 
enter  his  land,  'kase  the  entry-taker  told  it  ter 
him  ez  it  air  the  law  in  Tennessee  ez  enny- 
body  ez  finds  a  mine  or  val'able  min'ral  on 
vacant  land  hev  got  six  months  extry  ter 
enter  the  land  afore  ennybody  else  kin,  an'  ef 
ennybody  else  wants  ter  enter  it,  they  hev 
ter  gin  the  finder  o'  the  mine  thirty  days'  no 
tice." 

Tim  winked,  an  impressive  demonstration 
but  for  the  insufficiency  of  eyelashes  :  — 

"  The  surveyor  he  misdoubted,  an'  'lowed  ez 
gold  he<y never  been  fund  in  these  parts.  He 
said  they  fund  gold  in  them  mountings  furder 
east  'bout  twenty  odd  year  ago  —  in  1831,  I 
believe  he  said.  He  'lowed  them  mountings 
hain't  got  no  coal  like  our'n  hev,  an'  the 


96  DOWN  THE  RAV7XE. 

Cumberland  Mountings  hain't  got  no  gold. 
An'  then  in  a  minit  he  tuk  ter  misdoubtin'  on 
the  t'other  side  o'  his  mouth,  lie  'lowed  ez 
Nate's  min'ral  mought  be  gold,  an'  then  ag'in 
it  mought  n't." 

The  essential  difference  between  these  two 
extremes  has  afforded  scope  for  vacillation  to 
more  consistent  men  than  the  surveyor. 

"  Thar 's  the  grant  right  now,  in  the  pocket 
o'  Nate's  coat,"  said  Tim,  shifting  the  garment 
on  his  arm  to  show  a  stiff,  white  folded  paper 
sticking  out  of  the  breast  pocket  **  I  reckon 
when  he  tole  me  ter  tote  his  gun  an'  coat 
home,  he  furgot  the  grant  war  in  his  pocket, 
'kase  he  fairly  dotes  on  it,  an'  won't  trest  it 
out'n  his  sight" 

Nate  was  in  the  habit  of  exacting  similar 
services  from  his  acquiescent  younger  brother, 
and  Tim  had  his  hands  full,  as  he  tried  to  hold 
the  gun,  and  turn  the  coat  on  his  arm.  He 
finally  hung  the  garment  on  a  peg  in  the 
shed,  and  shouldered  the  weapon.  Suddenly  he 
whirled  around  toward  Rufe,  who  was  still 
standing  by. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  97 

u  What  in  the  nation  air  inside  o'  that  thar 
boy  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  A  chicken,  ain't  it  ?  " 

For  a  musical  treble  chirping  was  heard  pro 
ceeding  apparently  from  Rufe's  pocket.  This 
chicken  differed  from,  others  that  Rufe  had 
put  away,  in  being  alive  and  hearty. 

The  small  boy  entered  into  the  conversation 
with  great  spirit,  to  tell  that  a  certain  hen 
which  he  owned  had  yesterday  come  off  her 
nest  with  fourteen  of  the  spryest  deedies  that 
ever  stepped.  One  in  especial  had  so  won 
upon  Rufe  by  its  beauty  and  grace  of  deport 
ment  that  he  was  carrying  it  about  with  him, 
feeding  it  at  close  intervals,  and  housing  it  in 
the  security  of  his  pocket. 

The  deedie  hardly  made  a  moan.  There 
was  no  use  in  remonstrating  with  Rufe,  — 
everything  that  came  within  his  eccentric  or 
bit  seemed  to  realize  that,  —  and  the  deedie 
was  contentedly  nestling  down  in  his  pocket, 
apparently  resigned  to  lead  the  life  of  a  porte- 
monnaie. 

Rufe  narrated  with  pardonable  pride  the 
fact  that,  some  time  before,  his  great-uncle, 

7 


98  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

Rufus  Dicey,  had  sent  to  him  from  the  "  val 
ley  kentry  "  a  present  of  a  pair  of  game  chirk- 
ens,  and  that  this  deedie  was  from  the  first 
egg  hatched  in  the  game  hen's  brood. 

But  Rufe  was  not  selfish.  lie  offered  to 
give  Tim  one  of  the  chicks.  Now  poultry  was 
Tim's  weakness.  He  accepted  with  more  haste 
than  was  seemly,  and  at  once  asked  for  the 
deedie  in  the  small  boy's  pocket  Rufe,  how 
ever,  refused  to  part  from  the  chick  of  his 
adoption,  and  presently  Tim,  with  the  gun  on 
his  shoulder,  left  the  tanyard  in  company  with 
Rufe,  to  look  .over  the  brood  of  game  chicks, 
and  make  a  selection  from  among  them. 

Birt  hardly  noticed  what  they  did  or  said. 
Every  faculty  was  absorbed  in  considering  the 
wily  game  which  his  false  friend  had  played 
so  successfully.  It  was  all  plain  enough  now. 
The  fruit  of  his  discovery  would  be  plucked 
by  other  hands.  There  was  to  be  no  division 
of  the  profits.  Nate  Griggs  had  coveted  the 
whole.  His  craft  had  secured  it  for  himself 
alone.  He  had  the  legal  title  to  the  land,  the 
mine  —  all  I  There  seemed  absolutely  no  vul- 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  99 

nerable  point  in  his  scheme.  With  suddenly 
sharpened  perceptions,  Birt  realized  that  if  he 
should  now  claim  the  discovery  and  the  conse 
quent  right  of  thirty  days'  notice  of  Nate's 
intention,  by  virtue  of  the  priority  of  entering 
land  accorded  by  the  statute  to  the  finder  of 
a  mine  or  valuable  mineral,  it  would  be  con 
sidered  a  groundless  boast,  actuated  by  envy 
and  jealousy.  He  had  told  no  one  but  Nate 
of  his  discovery  —  and  would  not  Nate  now 
deny  it ! 

However,  one  thing  in  the  future  was  cer 
tain,  —  Nathan  Griggs  should- not  escape  alto 
gether  scathless.  For  a  long  time  Birt  sat 
motionless,  revolving  vengeful  purposes  in  his 
mind.  Every  moment  he  grew  more  bitter,  as 
he  reflected  upon  his  wrecked  scheme,  his  won 
derful  fatuity,  and  the  double  dealing  of  his 
chosen  coadjutor.  But  he  would  get  even  with 
Nate  Griggs  yet ;  he  promised  himself  that,  — 
he  would  get  even  ! 

At  last  the  falling  darkness  warned  him 
home.  When  he  rose  his  limbs  trembled,  his 
head  was  in  a  whirl,  and  the  familiar  scene 


100  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

swayed,  .strange  and  distorted,  before  him. 
He  steadied  himself  after  a  moment,  finished 
the  odd  jobs  he  had  left  undone,  and  presently 
was  trudging  homeward. 

A  heavy  black  cloud  overhung  the  woods ; 
an  expectant  stillness  brooded  upon  the  sultry 
world ;  an  angry  storm  was  in  the  air.  The 
first  vivid  flash  and  simultaneous  peal  burst 
from  the  sky  as  he  reached  the  passage  be 
tween  the  two  rooms. 

"  Ye  air  powerful  perlite  ter  come  a-step- 
pin'  home  jes'  at  supper-time,"  said  his  mother 
advancing  to  meet  him.  "  Ye  lef  no  wood 
hyar,  an'  ye  said  ye  would  bony  the  mule,  an' 
come  home  early  a-purpose  to  haul  some.  An' 
me  hyar  with  nuthin'  to  cook  supper  with  but 
sech  chips  an'  blocks  an'  bresh  ez  I  could 
pick  up  ofFn  the  groun'." 

Birt's  troubles  had  crowded  out  the  recollec 
tion  of  this  domestic  duty. 

"  I  clean  furgot,"  he  admitted,  penitently. 

Then  he  asked  suddenly,  "An'  whar  war 
Rufe,  an'  Pete,  an'  Joe,  ez  ye  hed  ter  go  ter 
pickin'  up  of  chips  an'  sech  off'n  the  groun'  ?  " 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  101 

He  turned  toward  the  group  of  small  boys. 
"  Air  you-uns  all  disabled  somehows,  ez  ye 
can't  pick  up  chips  an'  bresh  an'  sech?"  he 
said.  "  An'  ef  ye  air,  why  n't  ye  go  ter  the 
tanyard  arter  me  ?  " 

"They  war  all  off  in  the  woods,  a-lookin* 
arter  Rufe's  trap  ez  ye  sot  fur  squir'ls,"  Mrs. 
Dicey  explained.  "  It  hed  one  in  it,  an'  I 
cooked  it  fur  supper." 

Birt  said  that  he  could  go  out  early  with  his 
axe  and  cut  enough  wood  for  breakfast  to-mor 
row,  and  then  he  fell  silent.  Once  or  twice 
his  preoccupied  demeanor  called  forth  com 
ment. 

"  Why  n't  ye  eat  some  o'  the  squir'l,  Birt?" 
his  mother  asked  at  the  supper  table.  "  Pears- 
like  ter  me  ez  it  air  cooked  toler'ble  tasty." 

Birt  could  not  eat.  He  soon  rose  from  the 
table  and  resumed  his  chair  by  the  window, 
and  for  half  an  hour  no  word  passed  between 
them. 

The  thunder  seemed  to  roll  on  the  very  roof 
of  the  cabin,  and  it  trembled  beneath  the 
heavy  fall  of  the  rain.  At  short  intervals  a 


102  DOWN  TUB  RAVINE. 

terrible  blue  light  quivered  through  crevices  in 
the  "  daubin' "  between  the  logs  of  the  wall, 
and  about  the  rude  shutter  which  closed  the 
glassless  window.  Now  and  then  a  crash  from 
the  forest  told  of  a  riven  tree.  But  the  storm 
had  no  terrors  for  the  inmates  of  this  humble 
dwelling.  Pete  and  Joe  bad  already  gone  to 
bed;  Tennessee  had  fallen  asleep  while  play 
ing  on  the  floor,  and  Kufe  dozed  peacefully  in 
his  chair.  Even  Mrs.  Dicey  nodded  as  she 
knitted,  the  needles  sometimes  dropping  from 
her  nerveless  hand. 

Birt  silently  watched  the  group  for  a  time 
in  the  red  light  of  the  smouldering  fire  and 
the  blue  flashes  from  without.  At  length  he 
softly  rose  and  crept  noiselessly  to  the  door ; 
the  fastening  was  the  primitive  latch  with  a 
string  attached ;  it  opened  without  a  sound  in 
his  cautious  handling,  and  he  found  himself  in 
the  pitchy  darkness  outside,  the  wild  mountain 
wind  whirling  about  him-,  and  the  rain  de 
scending  in  steady  torrents. 

He  had  stumbled  only  a  few  steps  from  the 
house  when  he  thought  he  indistinctly  heard 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  103 

the  door  open  again.  He  dreaded  his  moth 
er's  questions,  but  he  stopped  and  looked 
back. 

He  saw  nothing.  There  was  no  sound  save 
the  roar  of  the  wind,  the  dash  of  the  rain, 
and  the  commotion  among  the  branches  of  the 
trees. 

He  went  on  once  more,  absorbed  in  his 
dreary  reflections  and  the  fierce  anger  that 
burned  in  his  heart. 

"  I  '11  git  even  with  Nate  Griggs,"  he  said, 
over  and  again.  "  1  '11  git  even  with  him 

yit." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHEN  Birt  reached  the  fence,  he  discov 
ered  that  the  bars  were  down.  Rufe  had  for 
gotten  to  replace  them  that  afternoon  when  he 
drove  in  the  cow  to  be  milked.  Despite  his 
absorption,  Birt  paused  to  put  them  up,  re 
membering  the  vagrant  mountain  cattle  that 
might  stray  in  upon  the  corn.  He  found  the 
familiar  little  job  difficult  enough,  for  it 
seemed  to  him  that  there  was  never  before  so 
black  a  night.  Even  looking  upward,  he  could 
not  see  the  great  wind-tossed  boughs  of  the 
chestnut-oak  above  his  head.  He  only  knew 
they  were  near,  because  acorns  dropped  upon 
the  rail  in  his  hands,  and  rebounded  reso 
nantly.  But  an  owl,  blown  helplessly  down 
the  gale,  was  not  much  better  off,  for  all  its 
vaunted  nocturnal  vision.  As  it  drifted  by, 
on  the  currents  of  the  wind,  its  noiseless,  out- 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  105 

stretched  wings,  vainly  flapping,  struck  Birt 
suddenly  in  the  face,  and  frightened  by  the 
collision,  it  gave  an  odd,  peevish  squeak. 

Birt,  too,  was  startled  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  exclaimed  irritably,  "  Oh,  g'way  owel  "  — 
realizing  what  had  struck  him. 

The  next  moment  he  paused  abruptly.  He 
thought  he  heard,  close  at  hand,  amongst  the 
glooms,  a  faint  chuckle.  Something  —  was  it  ? 
—  somebody  laughing  in  the  darkness  ? 

He  stood  intently  listening.  But  now  he 
heard  only  the  down-pour  of  the  rain,  the  so 
norous  gusts  of  the  wind,  the  multitudinous 
voices  of  the  muttering  leaves. 

He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  fancy.  "  All 
this  trouble  ez  I  hev  hed  along  o'  Nate  Griggs 
hev  mighty  nigh  addled  my  brains." 

The  name  recalled  his  resolve. 

"  I  '11  git  even  with  him,  though.  I  '11  git 
even  with  him  yit,"  he  reiterated  as  he  plodded 
on  heavily  down  the  path,  his  mind  once  more 
busy  with  all  the  details  of  his  discovery,  his 
misplaced  confidence,  and  the  wreck  of  his 
hopes. 


106  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

It  seemed  so  hard  that  he  should  never  be 
fore  have  heard  of  "entering  land."  ;iml  <>f 
that  law  of  the  State  according  priority  to  the 
finder  of  mineral.  The  mine  was  his,  but  he 
had  hid  the  discovery  from  all  but  Nate,  who 
claimed  it  himself,  and  had  secured  the  legal 
title. 

"  But  I  '11  git  even  with  him,"  he  said  reso 
lutely  between  his  set  teeth. 

He  had  thought  it  a  lucky  chance  to  remem 
ber,  in  his  reverie  before  the  fire-lit  hearth, 
that  peg  in  the  shed  at  the  tanyard  on  which 
Tim  had  hung  his  brother's  coat.  Somehow 
the  episode  of  the  afternoon  had  left  so  vivid 
an  impression  on  Birt's  mind  that  hours  after 
ward  he  seemed  to  see  the  dull,  clouded  sky, 
the  sombre,  encircling  woods,  the  brown  stretch 
of  spent  tan,  the  little  gray  shed,  and  within 
it,  hanging  upon  a  peg,  the  butternut  jeans 
coat,  a  stiff  white  paper  protruding  from  its 
pocket. 

That  grant,  he  thought,  had  taken  from  him 
his  rights.  He  would  destroy  it  —  he  would 
tear  it  into  bits,  and  cast  it  to  the  turbulent 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  107 

mountain  winds.  It  was  not  his,  to  be  sure. 
But  was  it  justly  Nate's  ?  —  he  had  no  right  to 
enter  the  land  down  the  ravine. 

And  so  Birt  argued  with  his  conscience. 

Now  wherever  Conscience  calls  a  halt,  it  is 
no  place  for  Reason  to  debate  the  question. 
The  way  ahead  is  no  thoroughfare. 

Birt  did  not  recognize  the  tearing  of  the 
paper  as  stealing,  but  he  knew  that  all  this 
was  morally  wrong,  although  he  would  not 
admit  it.  He  would  not  forego  his  revenge  — 
it  was  too  dear ;  he  was  too  deeply  injured. 
In  the  anger  that  possessed  his  every  faculty, 
he  did  not  appreciate  its  futility. 

There  were  other  facts  which  he  did  not 
know.  He  was  ignorant  that  the  deed  which 
he  contemplated  was  a  crime  in  the  estimation 
of  the  law,  a  penitentiary  offense. 

And  toward  this  terrible  pitfall  he  trudged 
in  the  darkness,  saying  over  and  again  to  him 
self,  "  I  '11  git  even  with  Nate  Griggs ;  he  '11 
hev  no  grant,  no  land,  no  gold  —  no  more  'n 
me.  I  '11  git  even  with  him." 

His  progress  seemed  incredibly  slow  as  he 


108  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

groped  along  the  path.  But  the  rain  soon 
ceased  ;  the  wind  began  to  scatter  the  clouds  ; 
through  a  rift  he  saw  a  great,  glittering  planet 
blazing  high  above  their  dark  turmoils. 

How  the  drops  pattered  down  as  the  wind 
tossed  the  laurel !  —  once  they  sounded  like 
footfalls  close  behind  him.  He  turned  and 
looked  back  into  the  obscurities  of  the  forest. 
Nothing — a  frog  had  begun  to  croak  far 
away,  and  the  vibrations  of  the  katydid  were 
strident  on  the  damp  air. 

And  here  was  the  tanyard,  a  denser  area  of 
gloom  marking  where  the  house  and  shed 
stood  in  the  darkness.  He  did  not  hesitate. 
He  stepped  over  the  bars,  which  lay  as  usual 
on  the  ground,  and  walked  across  the  yard  to 
the  shed.  The  eaves  were  dripping  with  mois 
ture.  But  the  coat,  still  hanging  within  on 
the  peg,  was  dry. 

He  had  a  thrill  of  repulsion  when  he 
touched  it.  His  hand  felL 

"  But  look  how  Nate  hev  treated  me,"  he 
remonstrated  with  his  conscience. 

The  next  moment  he  had  drawn  the  grant 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  109 

half-way  out  of  the  pocket,  and  as  he  moved 
he  almost  stepped  upon  something  close  be 
hind  him.  All  at  once  he  knew  what  it  was, 
even  before  a  flash  of  the  distant  lightning 
revealed  a  little  tow-head  down  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  a  pair  of  black  eyes  raised  to  his  in 
perfect  confidence. 

It  was  the  little  sister  who  had  followed  him 
to-night,  as  she  always  did  when  she  could. 

"  Stand  back  thar,  Tennessee  !  "  he  faltered. 

He  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  And 
yet  Tennessee  was  far  too  young  to  tell  that  " 
she  had  seen  the  grant  in  his  hands,  to  under 
stand,  even  to  question.  But  had  he  been 
seized  by  the  whole  Griggs  tribe,  he  could  not 
have  been  so  panic-stricken  as  he  was  by  the 
sight  of  that  unknowing  little  head,  the  touch 
of  the  chubby  little  hand  on  his  knee". 

He  thrust  the  grant  back  into  the  pocket  of 
Nate's  coat.  His  resolve  was  routed  by  the 
presence  of  love  and  innocence.  Not  here  — 
not  now  could  he  be  vindictive,  malicious. 
With  some  urgent,  inborn  impulse  strongly 
constraining  him,  he  caught  the  little  sister  in 


110  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

his  arms,  and  fled  headlong  through  the  dark 
ness,  homeward. 

As  he  went  he  was  amazed  that  he  should 
have  contemplated  this  revenge. 

"  Why,  I  can't  afford  ter  be  a  scoundrel  an' 
sech,  jes'  'kase  Nate  Griggs  air  a  tricky  feller 
an'  hev  fooled  me.  Ef  Tennessee  hed  n't 
stepped  up  so  powerful  peart  I  mought  n't  hev 
come  ter  my  senses  in  time.  I  mought  hev 
tore  up  Nate's  grant  by  now.  But  arter  this 
I  ain't  never  goin'  ter  set  out  ter  act  like  a 
scamp  jes'  'kase  somebody  else  does." 

His  conscience  had  prevailed,  his  better  self 
returned.  And  when  he  reached  home,  and 
opening  the  door  saw  his  mother  still  nodding 
over  her  knitting,  and  Rufe  asleep  in  his  chair, 
and  the  fire  smouldering  on  the  hearth,  all 
as  he  had  left  it,  he  might  have  thought  that 
he  had  dreamed  the  temptation  and  his  rescue, 
but  for  his  dripping  garments  and  Tennessee 
in  his  arms  all  soaking  with  the  rain. 

The  noise  of  his  entrance  roused  his  mother, 
who  stared  in  drowsy  astonishment  at  the  be 
draggled  apparition  on  the  threshold. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  Ill 

"  Tennie  follered  me  ter  the  tanyard  'fore  I 
fund  her  out,"  Birt  explained.  "  It  'pears  ter 
hev  rained  on  her,  considerable,"  he  added 
deprecatingly. 

Tennie  was  looking  eagerly  over  her  shoul 
der  to  note  the  effect  of  this  statement.  Her 
streaming  hair  flirted  drops  of  water  on  the 
floor ;  her  cheeks  were  ruddy ;  her  black  eyes 
brightened  with  apprehension. 

"Waal,  sir!  that  thar  child  beats  all  I 
Never  mind,  Tennie,  ye  '11  meet  up  with  a  wild 
varmint  some  day  when  ye  air  follerin'  Birt 
off  from  the  house,  an'  I  ain't  surprised  none 
ef  it  eats  ye  !  But  shucks !  "  Mrs.  Dicey  con 
tinued  impersonally,  "  I  mought  ez  well  save 
my  breath ;  Tennie  ain't  feared  o'  nuthin',  ef 
Birt  air  by." 

The  word  "  varmint "  seemed  to  recall  some 
thing  to  Tennessee.  She  began  to  chatter  un 
intelligibly  about  an  "  oweZ,"  and  to  chuckle 
so,  that  Birt  had  sudden  light  upon  that  mys 
terious  laugh  which  he  had  heard  behind  him 
at  the  bars. 

In  his  pride  in  Tennessee  he  related  how 


112  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

the  owl  had  startled  him,  and  the  little  girl, 
invisible  in  the  darkness,  had  lauglu'il. 

"  Tennessee  ain't  pretty,  I  know,  but  she  air 
powerful  peart,"  he  said,  affectionately,  as  he 
placed  her  upon  her  feet  on  the  floor. 

Birt  was  out  early  with  his  axe  the  next 
day.  The  air  was  delightfully  pure  after  the 
rain-storm ;  the  sky,  gradually  becoming  visi 
ble,  wore  the  ideal  azure ;  the  freshened  foli 
age  seemed  tinted  anew.  And  the  morning 
was  pierced  by  the  gilded,  glittering  javelins  of 
the  sunrise,  flung  from  over  the  misty  eastern 
mountains.  As  the  day  dawned  all  sylvan 
fascinations  were  alert  in  the  woods.  The 
fragrant  winds  were  garrulous  with  wild  le 
gends  of  piney  gorges ;  of  tumultuous  cascades 
fringed  by  thyme  and  mint  and  ferns.  Every 
humble  weed  lent  odorous  suggestions.  The 
airy  things  all  took  to  wing.  And  the  spider 
was  a-weaving. 

Birt  had  felled  a  slender  young  ash,  and  was 
cutting  it  into  lengths  for  the  fireplace,  when 
he  noticed  a  squirrel,  sleek  woodland  dandy, 
frisking  about  a  rotten  log  at  some  little  dis 
tance,  by  the  roadside. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  113 

Suddenly  the  squirrel  paused,  then  nimbly 
sped  away.  There  was  the  sound  of  approach 
ing  hoofs  along  the  road,  and  presently  from 
around  the  curve  a  woman  appeared  mounted 
on  a  sorrel  mare,  and  with  a  long-legged  colt 
ambling  in  the  rear. 

It  was  Mrs.  Griggs,  setting  out  on  a  journey 
of  some  ten  miles  to  visit  her  married  daugh 
ter  who  lived  on  a  neighboring  spur.  She  had 
taken  an  early  start  to  "  git  rid  o'  the  heat 
o'  the  noon,"  as  she  explained  to  Mrs.  Dicey, 
who  had  run  out  to  the  rail  fence  when  she 
reined  up  beside  it.  Birt  dropped  his  axe  and 
joined  them,  expecting  to  hear  more  about 
Nate's  grant  and  the  gold  mine.  Rufe  and 
Tennessee  added  their  company  without  any 
definite  intention.  Pete  and  Joe  were  hurry 
ing  out  of  the  house  toward  the  group.  All 
the  dogs  congregated,  some  of  them  climbing 
over  the  fence  to  investigate  the  colt,  which 
was  skittish  under  the  ordeal.  Even  the  tur 
key-gobbler,  strutting  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
assemblage,  had  an  attentive  aspect,  as  if  he, 
too,  relished  the  gossip. 


114  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

Mrs.  Griggs's  pink  calico  sunbonnet  sur 
mounted  the  cap  with  the  explanatory  ruffle. 
She  carried  a  fan  of  turkey  feathers,  and  with 
appropriate  gesticulation,  it  aided  in  expound 
ing  to  Mrs.  Dicey  the  astonishing  news  that 
Nate  had  found  a  gold  mine  on  vacant  land, 
and  had  entered  the  tract.  They  intended  to 
send  specimens  to  the  State  Assayer,  and  they 
were  all  getting  ready  to  begin  work  at  once. 

Another  surprise  to  Birt!  The  ignorant 
mountain  boy  had  never  heard  of  the  Assayer. 
But  indeed  Nate  had  only  learned  of  the  ex 
istence  of  the  office  and  its  uses  during  that 
memorable  trip  to  Sparta, 

The  prideful  Mrs.  Griggs  from  her  eleva 
tion,  literal  and  metaphorical,  supplemented 
all  this  by  the  creditable  statements  that  Nate 
had  turned  twenty-one,  had  cast  his  vote,  and 
had  a  right  to  a  choice  at  the  Cross-roads. 

Then  she  chirruped  to  the  rawboned  sorrel 
mare,  and  jogged  off  down  the  road,  followed 
by  the  frisky  colt,  whose  long,  slender  legs 
when  in  motion  seemed  so  fragile  that  it  was 
startling  to  witness  the  temerity  with  which  he 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  115 

kicked  up  his  frolicsome  heels.  The  dogs, 
with  that  odd  canine  affectation  of  having  just 
perceived  the  intruders,  pursued  them  with 
sudden  asperity,  barking  and  snapping,  and  at 
last  came  trotting  nimbly  home,  wagging  their 
'^'i1*  and  with  a  dutiful  mien. 

s.  Dicey  went  back  into  the  house,  and 
ame  in  envious  meditation,  fairly  si 
lenced,  and  with  her  apron  flung  over  her  face. 
Then  she  fell  to  lamenting  that  she  had  been 
working  all  her  life  for  nothing,  and  it  would 
take  so  little  to  make  the  family  comfortable, 
and  that  her  children  seemed  "  disabled  some 
how  in  thar  heads,  an'  though  always  rootin' 
around  in  the  woods,  hed  never  fund  no  gold 
mine  nor  nuthin'  else  out  o'  the  common." 

Birt  kept  silent,  but  the  gloom  and  trouble 
in  his  face  suddenly  touched  her  heart. 

"  Thar  now,  Birt !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
world  of  consolation  in  her  tones,  "  I  don't 
mean  ter  say  that,  nuther.  Ain't  I  a-thinkiu' 
day  an'  night  o'  how  smart  ye  be  —  stiddy 
an'  sensible  an'  hard-workin'  jes'  like  a  man  — • 
an'  what  a  good  son  ye  hev  been  to  me  !  An' 


116  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

the  t'other  chill'n  air  good  too,  an'  holps  mo 
powerful,  though  Rufe  air  hendered  some,  by 
the  comical  natur  o'  the  critter." 

She  broke  out  with  a  cheerful  laugh,  in 
which  Birt  could  not  join. 

"An*  I  mus'  be  gittin'  breakfus  fur  tho 
chill'n,"  she  said,  kneeling  down  on  the  hearth, 
and  uncovering  the  embers  which  had  been 
kept  all  night  under  the  ashes. 

"  Don't  ye  fret,  sonny.  I  ain't  goin'  ter 
grudge  Nate  his  gold  mine.  I  reckon  sech  a 
good  son  ez  ye  be,  an'  a  gold  mine  too,  would 
be  too  much  luck  fur  one  woman.  Don't  ye 
fret,  sonny." 

Birt's  self-control  gave  way  abruptly.  He 
rose  in  great  agitation,  and  started  toward  the 
door.  Then  he  paused,  and  broke  forth  with 
passionate  incoherence,  telling  amidst  sobs  and 
tears  the  story  of  the  woodland's  munificence 
to  him,  and  how  he  had  flung  the  gift  away. 

In  recounting  the  hopes  that  had  deluded 
him,  the  fears  that  had  gnawed,  and  the  de 
spair  in  which  they  were  at  last  merged,  he 
did  not  notice,  for  a  time,  her  look  as  she  still 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  117 

knelt  motionless  before  the  embers  on  the 
hearth. 

He  faltered,  and  grew  silent ;  then  stared 
dumbly  at  her. 

She  seemed  as  one  petrified.  Her  face  had 
blanched ;  its  lines  were  as  sharp  and  distinct 
as  if  graven  in  stone  ;  only  her  eyes  spoke,  an 
eloquent  anguish.  Her  faculties  were  numbed 
for  a  moment.  But  presently  there  was  a 
quiver  in  her  chin,  and  her  voice  rang  out. 

And  yet  did  she  understand?  did  she  real 
ize  the  loss  of  the  mine  ?  For  it  was  not  this 
that  she  lamented ! 

"  Birt  Dicey !  "  she  cried  in  an  appalled 
tone.  "  Did  ye  hide  it  from  yer  mother  —  an* 
teU  Nate  Griggs  ?  " 

Birt  hung  his  head.     The  folly  of  it ! 

"  What  ailed  ye,  ter  hide  it  from  me  ?  "  she 
asked  deprecatingly,  holding  out  her  worn, 
hard-working  hands.  "  Hev  I  ever  done  ye 
harm?" 

"  Nuthin'  but  good." 

"  Don't  everybody  know  a  boy's  mother  air 
bound  ter  take  his  part  agin  all  the  woiT  ?  " 


118  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"Everybody  but  me,"  said  the  penitent 
Birt. 

"  What  ailed  ye,  ter  hide  it  from  me  ? 
What  did  ye  'low  I  'd  do  ?  " 

"  I  'lowed  ye  would  n't  want  me  ter  go  pard- 
ners  with  Nate,"  he  said  drearily. 

"  I  reckon  I  would  n't !  "  she  admitted. 

"  Ye  always  said  he  war  a  snake  in  the 
grass." 

"  He  hev  proved  that  air  a  true  word." 

"  I  wisht  I  hed  n't  tole  him  I "  cried  Birt 
vainly.  "  I  wisht  I  hed  n't" 

He  watched  her  with  moody  eyes  as  she 
rose  at  last  with  a  sigh  and  went  mechanically 
about  her  preparations  for  breakfast. 

There  was  a  division  between  them.  He 
felt  the  gulf  widening. 

"  I  jes'  wanted  it  fur  you-uns,  ennyhow," 
he  said,  defending  his  motives.  "  I  'lowed  ez 
I  mought  make  enough  out'n  it  ter  buy  a 
horse." 

"I  hain't  got  time  ter  sorrow  'bout'n  no 
gold  mine,"  she  said  loftily.  "  I  used  ter  be 
lieve  ye  set  a  heap  o'  store  by  yer  mother,  an' 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  119 

war  willin'  ter  trust  her  —  ye  an'  me  hevin' 
been  through  mighty  hard  times  together.  But 
ye  don't  —  I  reckon  ye  never  did.  I  hev  los' 
mo'  than  enny  gold  mine." 

And  this  sorrow  for  a  vanished  faith  re 
solved  itself  into  tears  with  which  she  salted 
her  humble  bread. 


CHAPTER  VHL 

IF  she  had  had  any  relish  for  triumph,  she 
might  have  found  it  in  Birt's  astonishment  to 
learn  that  she  understood  all  the  details  of 
entering  land,  which  had  been  such  a  mystery 
to  him. 

"  'T  war  the  commonest  thing  in  the  worl', 
whenst  I  war  young,  ter  hear  'bout'n  folks  en- 
terin'  land,"  she  said.  "  But  nowadays  thar 
ain't  no  talk  'bout'n  it  sca'cely,  'lease  the  best 
an'  most  o'  the  land  in  the  State  hev  all  been 
tuk  up  an'  entered — 'ceptin'  mebbe  a  trac', 
hyar  an'  thar,  full  o'  rock,  an'  so  steep  't  ain't 
wuth  payin'  the  taxes  on." 

Simple  as  she  was,  she  could  have  given  him 
valuable  counsel  when  it  was  sorely  needed. 

He  hung  about  the  house  later  than  was  his 
wont,  bringing  in  the  store  of  wood  for  her 
work  during  the  day,  and  "packing"  the 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  121 

water  from  the  spring,  with  the  impulse  in  his 
attention  to  these  little  duties  to  make  what 
amends  he  might. 

When  at  last  he  started  for  the  tanyard,  he 
knew  by  the  sun  that  he  was  long  over-due. 
He  walked  briskly  along  the  path  through 
the  sassafras  and  sumach  bushes,  on  which 
the  rain-drops  still  clung.  He  was  presently 
brushing  them  off  in  showers,  for  he  had 
begun  to  run.  It  occurred  to  him  that  this 
was  no  tune  to  seem  even  a  trifle  remiss  in  his 
work  at  the  tanyard.  Since  he  had  lost  all 
his  hopes  down  the  ravine,  the  continuance  of 
Jube  Perkins's  favor  and  the  dreary  routine 
with  the  mule  and  the  bark-mill  were  his  best 
prospects.  It  would  never  do  to  offend  the 
tanner  now. 

"  With  sech  a  pack  o'  chill'n  ter  vittle  ez 
we-uns  hev  got  at  our  house,"  he  muttered. 

As  he  came  crashing  through  the  under 
brush  into  view  of  the  tanyard,  he  noticed  in 
stantly  that  it  did  not  wear  its  usual  simple, 
industrial  aspect.  A  group  of  excited  men 
W-CL-C:  standing  in  front,  o£  the  shed,  one  of 
them  gesticulating  wildly. 


122  DOWN  THE  RA17NE. 

And  running  toward  the  bars  came  Tim 
Griggs,  panting  and  white-faced,  and  exclaim 
ing  incoherently  at  the  sight  of  Birt 

"  Oh,  Birt,"  he  cried,  "  I  war  jes'  startin'  to 
yer  house  arter  you-uns ;  they  tole  me  to  go 
an'  fetch  ye.  Fur  m assy's  sake,  gimme  Nate'c 
grant.  I  'm  fairly  afeared  o'  him.  He  '11  break 
every  bone  I  own."  He  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Gimme  the  grant  I  " 

"  Nate's  grant ! "  exclaimed  Birt  aghast  "  I 
hain't  got  it !  I  hain't "  - 

He  paused  abruptly.  He  could  not  say  that 
he  had  not  touched  it. 

Tim's  wits  were  sharpened  by  the  keen  anx 
iety  of  the  crisis.  He  noticed  the  hesitation. 
"  Ye  hev  hed  it,"  he  cried  wildly.  "  Ye  know 
ye  hev  been  foolin'  with  it  Ye  know  't  war 
you-uns !  " 

He  changed  to  sudden  appeal.  "  Don't  put 
the  blame  off  on  me,  Birt,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  'm 
fairly  afeared  o'  Nate." 

"  Ain't  the  grant  in  the  pocket  o'  his  coat 
—  whar  ye  left  it  hangin'  on  a  peg  in  the 
shed  ?  "  asked  Birt,  dismayed. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  123 

"  Naw  —  naw  !  "  exclaimed  Tim,  despair 
ingly.  "  He  missed  his  coat  this  mornin', 
bein'  the  weather  war  cooler,  an'  then  the 
grant,  an'  he  sent  me  arter  it.  An'  I  fund  the 
coat  a-hangin'  thar  on  the  peg,  whar  I  hed  lef ' 
it,  bein'  ez  I  furgot  it  when  I  went  off  with 
Rufe  ter  look  at  his  chickens,  an'  the  pocket 
war  empty  an'  the  paper  gone !  Nate  hev  kem 
ter  sarch,  too  1 " 

Once  more  he  held  out  his  hand.  "  Gimme 
the  grant.  Nate  'lows  't  war  you-uns  ez  tuk 
it,  bein'  ez  I  lef  it  hyar." 

Birt  flushed  angrily.  "  I  '11  say  a  word  ter 
Nate  Griggs  !  "  he  declared. 

And  he  pushed  past  the  trembling  Tim,  and 
took  his  way  briskly  into  the  tanyard. 

There  was  a  vague  murmur  in  the  group  as 
he  approached,  and  Nate  Griggs  came  out 
from  its  midst,  nodding  his  head  threateningly. 
His  hat,  thrust  far  back  on  his  sandy  hair,  left 
in  bold  relief  his  long,  thin  face  with  its  small 
eyes,  which  seemed  now  so  close  together  that 
his  glance  had  the  effect  of  a  squint.  He 
scanned  Birt  narrowly. 


124  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

This  was  the  first  time  the  two  had  met 
since  Birt's  ill-starred  confidence  there  by  the 
bark-mill. 

"  What  ails  ye,  ter  'low  ez  it  air  me  ez  hev 
got  yer  grant,  Nate  Griggs? "  Birt  asked, 
steadily  meeting  the  accusation. 

The  excitement  had  impaired  for  the  mo 
ment  Nate  Griggs's  cunning. 

u'Kase,"  he  blurted  out,  "ye  hev  been 
a-tryin'  ter  purtend  ez  ye  fund  the  mine 
fust,  an'  hev  been  a-tellin'  folks  'bout'n  it." 

"Prove  it,"  said  Birt,  in  sudden  elation. 
"  Who  war  it  I  tole,  an'  when?" 

The  sly  Nathan  caught  his  breath  with  a 
gasp.  His  craft  had  returned. 

Admit  that  to  him  Birt  had  divulged  tlio 
discovery  of  the  mine  !  Confess,  when !  This 
would  invalidate  the  entry  ! 

"  Ye  tole  77m,"  Nate  said  shamelessly,  "  an' 
ez  ter  when  —  't  war  yestiddy  evenin'  at  the 
tanyard.  Did  n't  he,  Tim  ?  "  And  he  whirled 
around  to  his  younger  brother  for  confirma 
tion  of  this  audacious  and  deliberate  false* 
hood. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  125 

The  abject  Tim  —  poor  tool !  —  frightened 
and  cowering,  nodded  to  admit  it.  "  Gimme 
the  grant,  Birt,"  he  faltered,  helplessly.  "  I 
ought  n't  ter  hev  furgot  it." 

"  Look-a-hyar,  Birt,"  said  the  tanner  with 
a  solemnity  which  the  boy  did  not  altogether 
understand,  "  gin  Nate  the  grant." 

"  I  hain't  got  it,"  replied  Birt,  badgered 
and  growing  nervous. 

"  Tell  him,  then,  ye  never  teched  it." 

Birt's  impulse  was  to  adopt  the  word.  But 
he  had  seen  enough  of  falsehood.  He  had 
done  with  concealment. 

"  I  did  tech  it,"  he  said  boldly,  "  but  I  hain't 
got  it.  I  put  it  back  in  the  pocket  o'  the 
coat." 

Jube  Perkins  laid  a  sudden  hand  upon  his 
collar.  "  'Tain't  no  use  denyin'  it,  Birt,"  he 
said  with  the  sharp  cadence  of  dismay.  "  Gin 
the  grant  back  ter  Nate,  an'  mebbe  he  won't 
go  no  furder  'bout'n  it.  Stealin'  a  paper  like 
that  air  a  pen'tiary  crime  !  " 

Birt  reeled  under  the  word.  He  thought  of 
his  mother,  the  children.  He  had  a  bitter 


126  DOWN  T1IE  RAVINE. 

foretaste  of  the  suspense,  the  fear,  the  humili 
ation.  And  he  was  helpless.  For  no  one 
would  believe  him  !  His  head  was  in  a  whirl. 
He  could  not  stand.  He  sank  down  upon  the 
wood-pile,  vaguely  hearing  a  word  here  and 
there  of  what  was  said  in  the  crowd. 

"  His  mother  air  a  widder- woman,"  re 
marked  one  of  the  group.  "  An'  she  air 
mighty  poor." 

Andy  Byers  was  laughing  cynically. 

Absorbed  though  he  was,  Birt  experienced 
a  subacute  wonder  that  any  one  could  feel  so 
bitterly  toward  him  as  to  laugh  at  a  moment 
like  this.  How  had  he  made  Andy  Byers  his 
enemy ! 

Nobody  noticed  it,  for  Nate  was"  swaggering 
about  in  the  crowd,  enjoying  this  conspicuous 
opportunity  to  display  all  the  sophistications 
he  had  acquired  in  his  recent  trip  to  Sparta. 
He  was  calling  upon  them  to  witness  that  he 
did  not  care  for  the  loss  of  the  grant  —  the 
paper  was  nothing  to  him !  —  for  it  was  on 
record  in  the  land  office,  and  he  could  get  a 
certified  copy  from  the  register  in  no  time  at 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  127 

Jl.  But  his  rights  were  his  rights  f  —  and 
ten  thousand  Diceys  should  not  trample  on 
them.  Birt  had  doubtless  thought,  being  ig 
norant,  that  he  could  destroy  the  title  by  mak 
ing  away  with  the  paper ;  and  if  there  was  law 
in  the  State,  he  should  suffer  for  it. 

And  after  this  elaborate  rodomontade,  Nate 
strode  out  of  the  tanyard,  with  the  obsequious 
Tim  following  humbly. 

Birt  told  his  story  again  and  again,  to  sat 
isfy  curious  questioners  during  the  days  that 
ensued.  And  when  he  had  finished  they  would 
look  significantly  at  one  another,  and  chuckle 
incredulously. 

The  tanner  seemed  to  earnestly  wish  to  be 
friend  him,  and  urged  him  to  confess.  "  The 
truth  's  the  only  thing  ez  kin  save  ye,  Birt." 

"  I  'm  tellin'  the  truth,"  poor  Birt  would  de 
clare. 

Then  Jube  Perkins  argued  the  question: 
"  How  kin  ye  expec'  ennybody  ter  b'lieve  ye 
when  ye  say  Tennessee  purvented  ye  from 
takin'  the  grant  —  ennything  the  size  o'  leetle 
Tennie,  thar." 


128  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

And  he  pointed  at  the  little  sister,  who  was 
perched  upon  the  wood-pile  munching  an  In 
dian  peach. 

Somehow  Birt  did  not  accurately  define  the 
moral  force  which  she  had  wielded,  for  he  was 
untaught,  and  clumsy  of  speech,  and  could  not 
translate  his  feelings.  And  .lube  Perkins  was 
hardly  fitted  to  understand  that  subtle  coer 
cion  of  affection. 

When  he  found  that  Birt  would  only  reit 
erate  that  Tennie  "kern  along  unbeknown  an* 
purvented  "  him,  Jube  Perkins  gave  up  the 
effort  at  last,  convinced  of  his  guilt. 

And  Andy  Byers  said  that  he  was  not  sur 
prised,  for  he  had  known  for  some  little  time 
that  Birt  was  a  "  most  mischievious  scamp." 

Only  his  mother  believed  in  him,  requiting 
his  lack  of  confidence  in  her  with  a  fervor  of 
faith  in  him  that,  while  it  consoled,  neverthe 
less  cut  him  to  the  heart.  It  has  been  many 
years  since  then,  for  all  this  happened  along 
in  the  fifties,  but  Birt  has  never  forgotten  how 
staunchly  she  upheld  him  in  every  thought 
when  all  the  circumstances  belied  him.  Now 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  129 

that  misfortune  had  touched  him,  every  trace 
of  her  caustic  moods  had  disappeared ;  she 
was  all  gentleness  and  tenderness  toward  him. 
And  day  by  day  as  he  went  to  his  work,  meet 
ing  everywhere  a  short  word,  or  a  slighting 
look,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  have  borne  up, 
save  for  the  knowledge  of  that  loyal  heart  at 
home. 

He  was  momently  in  terror  of  arrest,  and 
he  often  pondered  on  Nate's  uncharacteristic 
forbearance.  Perhaps  Nate  was  afraid  that 
Birt's  story,  told  from  the  beginning  in  court, 
might  constrain  belief  and  affect  the  validity 
of  the  entry. 

Birt  vainly  speculated,  too,  upon  the  strange 
disappearance  of  the  grant.  There  it  was  in 
the  pocket  of  the  coat  late  that  night,  and  the 
next  morning  early  —  gone  ! 

Sometimes  he  suspected  that  Nate  had  only 
made  a  pretense  of  losing  the  grant,  in  order 
to  accuse  him  and  prejudice  public  opinion 
against  him,  so  that  he  might  not  be  believed 
should  he  claim  the  discovery  of  the  mineral 
down  the  ravine. 
9 


130  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

His  mother  sought  to  keep  him  from 
ing  upon  his  troubles.  "  We  won't  cross  the 
bredge  till  we  git  thar,"  she  said.  **  Mebbe 
thar  ain't  none  ahead."  But  her  fears  for  his 
sake  tortured  her  silent  hours  when  he 
away.  When  he  came  back  from  his  work, 
there  always  awaited  him  a  bright  fire,  a  good 
supper,  and  cheerful  words  as  well,  although 
these  were  the  most  difficult  to  prepare.  1  la- 
dogs  bounded  about  him,  Tennessee  clung  to 
his  hand,  the  boys  were  hilarious  and  loud. 

By  reason  of  their  mother's  silence  on  the 
subject,  that  Birt  might  be  better  able  to  go, 
and  work,  and  hold  up  his  head  among  the 
men  who  suspected  him,  the  children  for  a 
time  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened. 

Now  Rufe,  although  his  faults  were  many 
and  conspicuous,  was  not  lacking  in  natural 
affection.  Had  he  understood  that  a  cloud 
overhung  Birt,  he  could  not  have  been  so  mer 
ry,  so  facetious,  so  queerly  and  quaintly  bad 
as  he  was  on  his  visits  to  the  tanyard,  which 
were  peculiarly  frequent  just  now.  If  Birt 
had  had  the  heart  for  it,  he  might  have  enjoyed 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  131 

ome  of  Rufe's  pranks  at  the  expense  of  Andy 
Byers.  The  man  had  once  found  a  sort  of 
entertainment  in  making  fun  of  Kufe,  and  this 
had  encouraged  the  small  boy  to  retaliate  as 
best  he  could. 

At  this  time,  however,  Byers  suddenly  be 
came  the  gravest  of  men.  He  took  little. no 
tice  of  the  wiles  of  his  elfish  antagonist,  and 
whenever  he  fell  into  a  snare  devised  by  Rufe, 
he  was  irritable  for  a  moment,  and  had  forgot 
ten  it  the  next.  He  had  never  a  word  or 
glance  for  Birt,  who  marveled  at  his  conduct. 
He  seemed  perpetually  brooding  upon  some 
perplexity.  Occasionally  in  the  midst  of  his 
work  he  would  stand  motionless  for  five  min 
utes,  the  two-handled  knife  poised  in  his  grasp, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  his  shaggy 
brows  heavily  knitted,  his  expression  doubting, 
anxious. 

The  tanner  commented  upon  this  inactivity, 
one  day.  "  Hev  ye  tuk  root  thar,  Andy  ?  " 
he  asked. 

Byers  roused  himself  with  a  start.  "  Naw," 
he  replied  reflectively,  "  but  I  hev  been 


132  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

troubled  in  my  mind  some,  lately,  an'  I  gits 
ter  studyin'  powerful  wunst  in  a  while." 

As  he  bent  to  his  work,  scraping  the  two- 
handled  knife  up  and  down  the  hide  stretched 
over  the  wooden  horse,  he  added,  "  1  hev  got 
so  ez  I  can't  relish  my  vittles  sca'cely,  bein'  so 
tormented  in  ray  mind,  an'  my  sleep  air  plumb 
broke  up;  'pears  like  ter  me  ez  I  hev  got  a 
reg'lar  gift  fur  the  nightmare." 

"  Been  skeered  by  old  Mis'  Price's  harnt 
lately  ?  "  Rufe  asked  suddenly  from  his  perch 
upon  the  wood-pile. 

Byers  whirled  round  abruptly,  fixing  an  as 
tonished  gaze  upon  Kufe,  unmindful  that  the 
knife  slipped  from  his  grasp,  and  fell  clanking 
upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THIS  grave,  eager  gaze  Rufe  returned  with 
the  gayest  audacity. 

"Been  skeered  by  old  Mis'  Price's  harnt 
lately  ?  "  he  once  more  chirped  out  gleefully. 

He  was  comical  enough,  as  he  sat  on  the  top 
of  the  wood-pile,  hugging  his  knees  with  both 
arms,  his  old,  bent,  wool  hat  perched  on  the 
back  of  his  tow  head,  and  all  his  jagged  squir 
rel  teeth  showing  themselves,  unabashed,  in  a 
wide  grin. 

Jubal  Perkins  laughed  lazily,  as  he  looked 
at  him. 

Then,  with  that  indulgence  which  Rufe  al 
ways  met  at  the  tanyard,  and  which  served  to 
make  him  so  pert  and  forward,  the  tanner  said, 
humoring  the  privileged  character,  "  What  be 
you-uns  a-talkin'  'bout,  boy  ?  Mrs.  Price  ain't 
dead." 


134  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"He  hev  viewed  old  Mis'  Price's  harnt," 
cried  Rufe,  pointing  at  Andy  Byere,  with  a  jo 
cosely  crooked  finger.  "  He  air  so  peart  an* 
forehanded  a-viewin'  harnts,  he  don't  hev  to 
wait  till  folkses  be  dead.  He  hev  seen  Mis' 
Price's  harnt  —  an'  it  plumb  skeered  the  wits 
ont'n  him." 

Perkins  did  not  understand  this.  His  in 
terest  was  suddenly  alert.  He  took  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
at  Byers.  "  What  air  Rufe  aiinin'  at,  Andy  ?  " 
he  asked,  surprised. 

Byers  did  not  reply.  He  still  gazed  stead 
fastly  at  Rufe  ;  the  knifo  lay  unheeded  on  the 
ground  at  his  feet,  and  the  hide  was  slipping 
from  the  wooden  horse. 

At  last  he  said  slowly,  "  Birt  tole  ye  'bout'n 
it,  eh?" 

"Naw,  sir  I  Naw!"  Rufe  rocked  himself 
fantastically  to  and  fro  in  imminent  peril  of 
toppling  off  the  wood-pile.  "Twar  Tom 
Byers  ez  tole  me." 

"  Tom  I  "  exclaimed  Byers,  with  a  galvanic 
start. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  135 

For  Tom  was  his  son,  and  he  had  not  sus 
pected  filial  treachery  in  the  matter  of  the 
spectral  blackberry  bush. 

Rufe  stared  in  his  turn,  not  comprehending 
Byers's  surprise. 

"  Tom"  he  reiterated  presently,  with  mock 
ing  explicitness.  "  Tom  Byers  —  I  reckon  ye 
knows  him.  That  thar  freckled-faced,  snag- 
gled-toothed,  red-headed  Tom  Byers,  ez  lives 
at  yer  house.  I  reckon  ye  mus1  know  him." 

"  Tom  tole  ye  —  what  ?  "  asked  the  tanner, 
puzzled  by  Byers's  grave,  anxious  face,  and 
Rufe's  mysterious  sneers. 

Rufe  broke  into  the  liveliest  cackle.  "  Tom, 
he  lowed  ter  me  ez  he  war  tucked  up  in  the 
trundle-bed,  fast  asleep,  that  night  when  his 
dad  got  home  from  old  Mis'  Price's  house,  whar 
he  had  been  ter  hear  her  las'  words.  Tom,  he 
'lowed  he  war  dreamin'  ez  his  gran'dad  hed 
gin  him  a  calf  —  Tom  say  the  calf  war  spotted 
red  an'  white  —  an'  jes'  ez  he  war  a-leadin'  it 
home  with  him,  his  dad  kem  racin'  inter  the 
house  with  sech  a  rumpus  ez  woke  him  up,  an' 
he  never  got  the  calf  along  no  furder  than  the 


136  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

turn  in  the  road.  An'  thar  sot  his  dad  in  the 
cheer,  declarin'  fur  true  ez  he  hed  seen  old 
Mis'  Price's  harnt  in  the  woods,  an'  b'lieved 
she  mus'  be  dead  afore  now.  An'  though 
thar  war  a  right  smart  fire  on  the  h'a'th,  he 
war  shiverin'  an'  shakin'  over  it,  jes'  the  same 
ez  ef  he  war  out  at  the  wood-pile,  pickin'  up 
chips  on  a  frosty  mornin'." 

And  Rufe  crouched  over,  shivering  in  every 
limb,  in  equally  excellent  mimicry  of  a  ghost- 
seer,  or  an  unwilling  chip-picker  under  stress 
of  weather. 

"  My  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  fresh  burst  of 
laughter;  "whenst  Tom  tole  me  'bout'n  it  I 
war  so  tickled  I  war  feared  I  'd  fall.  I  los'  the 
use  o'  my  tongue.  I  could  n't  stop  laffin'  long 
enough  ter  tell  Tom  what  I  war  laffin'  at.  An' 
ez  Tom  knowed  I  war  snake-bit  las'  June,  he 
went  home  an'  tole  his  mother  ez  the  p'ison 
hed  done  teched  me  in  the  head,  an'  said  he 
reckoned,  ef  the  tmth  war  knowed,  I  hed  fits 
ez  a  constancy.  I  say  — Jits  !  " 

Once  more  the  bewildered  tanner  glanced 
from  one  to  the  other. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  137 

"Why,  ye  never  tole  me  ez  ye  hed  seen 
su'thin'  strange  in  the  woods,  Andy,"  he  ex 
claimed,  feeling  aggrieved,  thus  balked  of  a 
sensation.  "An5  the  old  woman  ain't  dead, 
nohow,"  he  continued  reasonably,  "  but  air 
strengthenin'  up  amazin'  fast." 

"  Waal,"  put  in  Rufe,  hastening  to  explain 
this  discrepancy  in  the  spectre,  "  I  hearn  you- 
uns  a-sayin'  that  mornin',  fore  ye  set  out  from 
the  tanyard,  ez  she  war  mighty  nigh  dead  an' 
would  be  gone  'fore  night.  An'  ez  he  hed  tole 
me  he  'd  skeer  the  wits  out'n  me,  I  'lowed  ez 
I  could  show  him  ez  his  wits  warn't  ez  tough 
ez  mine.  Though,"  added  the  roguish  Rufe, 
with  a  grin  of  enjoyment,  "  arter  I  hed  dressed 
up  the  blackberry  bush  in  mam's  apron  an' 
shawl,  an'  sot  her  bonnet  a-top,  it  tuk  ter  nod- 
din'  and  bowin'  with  the  wind,  an'  looked  so 
like  folks,  ez  it  gin  Me  a  skeer,  an'  I  jes'  run 
home  ez  hard  ez  I  could  travel.  An  Towse, 
he  barked  at  it !  " 

\ 

Andy  Byers  spoke  suddenly.  "  Waal,  Birt 
helped  ye,  then." 

"  He  never  I  "  cried  Rufe,  emphatically,  un- 


138  DOWN  THE  RA17NE. 

willing  to  share  the  credit,  or  perhaps  dis 
credit,  of  the  enterprise.  u  Birt  dunno  nuthin' 
'bout  it  ter  this  good  day."  Rufe  winked 
slyly.  "  Birt  would  tell  mam  ez  I  hed  been 
a-foolin'  with  her  shawl  an'  bonnet." 

Andy  Byers  still  maintained  a  most  incon 
gruous  gravity. 

"  It  warn't  Birt's  doin',  at  all  ?  "  he  said 
interrogatively,  and  with  a  pondering  aspect. 

Jubal  Perkins  broke  into  a  derisive  guffaw. 
"  What  ails  ye,  Andy  ?  "  be  cried.  "  Though 
ye  never  seen  no  harnt,  ye  'pear  ter  be  fairly 
witched  by  that  thar  tricked-out  blackberry 
bush." 

Rufe  shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  began  to 
shiver  in  imaginary  terror  over  a  fancied  fire. 

"  Old  —  Mis'  —  Price's  —  harnt !  "  he 
wheezed. 

The  point  of  vievr  makes  an  essential  differ 
ence.  Jube  Perkins  thought  Rufe's  comical 
ity  most  praiseworthy  —  his  pipe  went  out 
while  he  laughed.  Byers  flushed  indignantly. 

"  Ye  aggervatin'  leetle  varmint !  "  he  cried 
suddenly,  his  patience  giving  way. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  139 

He  seized  the  crouching  mimic  by  the  col 
lar,  and  although  he  did  not  literally  knock 
him  off  the  wood-pile,  as  Rufe  afterward  de 
clared,  he  assisted  the  small  boy  through  the 
air  with  a  celerity  that  caused  Rufe  to  wink 
very  fast  and  catch  his  breath,  when  he  was 
deposited,  with  a  shake,  on  the  soft  pile  of 
ground  bark  some  yards  away. 

Rufe  was  altogether  unhurt,  but  a  trifle  sub 
dued  by  this  sudden  aerial  excursion.  The 
fun  was  over  for  the  present.  He  gathered 
himself  together,  and  went  demurely  and  sat 
down  on  the  lowest  log  of  the  wood-pile. 
After  a  little  he  produced  a  papaw  from  his 
pocket,  and  by  the  manner  in  which  they  went 
to  work  upon  it,  his  jagged  squirrel  teeth 
showed  that  they  were  better  than  they  looked. 

Towse  had  followed  his  master  to  the  tan- 
yard,  and  was  lying  asleep  beside  the  wood 
pile,  with  his  muzzle  on  his  forepaws. 

He  roused  himself  suddenly  at  the  sound  of 
munching,  and  came  and  sat  upright,  facing 
Rufe,  and  eying  the  papaw  gloatingly.  He 
wagged  his  tail  in  a  beguiling  fashion,  and 


140  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

now  and  then  turned  his  head  blandishingly 
askew. 

Of  course  he  would  not  have  relished  the 
papaw,  and  only  begged  as  a  matter  of  habit 
or  perhaps  on  principle  ;  but  he  was  given  no 
opportunity  to  sample  it,  for  Rufe  hardly  no 
ticed  him,  being  absorbed  in  dubiously  watrh- 
ing  Andy  Byers,  who  was  once  more  at  work, 
scraping  the  hide  with  the  two-handled  knife. 

J  ill  ml  Perkins  had  gone  into  the  house  for  a 
coal  to  re-kindle  his  pipe,  for  there  is  always 
a  smouldering  fire  in  the  "  smoke-room "  for 
the  purpose  of  drying  the  hides  suspended 
from  the  rafters.  He  came  out  with  it  freshly 
glowing,  and  sat  down  on  the  broad,  high  pile 
of  wood. 

As  the  first  whiff  of  smoke  wreathed  over 
his  head,  he  said,  "  What  air  the  differ  ter  ye, 
Andy,  whether  't  war  bub,  hyar,  or  Birt,  ez 
dressed  up  the  blackberry  bush  ?  ye  'pear  ter 
make  a  differ  a-twixt  'em." 

Still  Byers  was  evasive.  "  Whar  's  Birt, 
ennyhow  ?  "  he  demanded  irrelevantly. 

"  "VVaal,"  drawled  the  tanner,  with  a  certain 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  141 

constraint,  "  I  bed  been  promisin'  Birt  a  day 
off  fur  a  right  smart  while,  an'  I  tole  him  ez 
be  mought  ez  well  hev  the  rest  o'  ter-day.  He 
'lowed  ez  he  warn't  partic'lar  'bout  a  day  off, 
now.  But  I  tole  him  ennyhow  ter  go  along. 
I  seen  him  a  while  ago  passin'  through  the 
woods,  with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder  —  gone 
huntin',  I  reckon." 

"  Gone  hunt  in'  I "  ejaculated  Rufe  in  dud 
geon,  joining  unceremoniously  in  the  conver 
sation  of  his  elders.  "  Now,  Birt  mought  hev 
let  me  know !  I  'd  bev  wanted  ter  go  along 
too." 

"  Mebbe  that  air  .the  reason  he  never  tole 
ye,  bub,"  said  Perkins  dryly. 

For  he  could  appreciate  that  Rufe's  society 
was  not  always  a  boon,  although  he  took  a 
lenient  view  of  the  little  boy.  Any  indul 
gence  of  Birt  was  more  unusual,  and  Andy 
Byers  experienced  some  surprise  to  hear  of 
the  unwonted  sylvan  recreations  of  the  young 
drudge.  He  noticed  that  the  mule  was  off 
duty  too,  grazing  among  the  bushes  just  be 
yond  the  fence,  and  hobbled  so  that  he  could 


142  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

not  run  away.  This  precaution  might  have 
seemed  a  practical  joke  on  the  mule,  for  the 
poor  old  animal  was  only  too  glad  to  stand 
stock  still. 

Kufe  continued  his  exclamatory  indigna 
tion. 

"  Jes'  ter  go  lopin'  off  inter  the  woods  hnn- 
tiu',  'thout  lettin'  Me  know !  An'  I  never  gits 
ter  go  huntin'  nohow  I  An'  mam  won't  let 
me  tech  Birt's  rifle,  'thout  it  air  ez  empty  ea 
A  gourd !  She  say  she  air  feared  I  '11  shoot 
my  head  off,  au'  she  don't  want  no  boys,  'thout 
heads,  jouncin'  round  her  house  —  shucks ! 
Which  way  did  Birt  take,  Mister  Perkins?  — 
'kase  I  be  goin'  ter  ketch  up." 

"  He  war  headed  fur  that  thar  salt  lick, 
whenst  I  las'  seen  him,"  replied  the  tanner; 
"  ef  ye  stir  yer  stumps  right  lively,  mebbe  ye  '11 
overhaul  him  yit." 

Rufe  rose  precipitately.  Towse,  believing 
his  petition  for  the  papaw  was  about  to  be  re 
warded,  leaped  up  too,  gamboling  with  a  dis 
play  of  ecstasy  that  might  have  befitted  a 
starving  creature,  and  an  elasticity  to  be  ex- 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  143 

pected  only  of  a  rubber  dog.  As  he  uttered 
a  shrill  yelp  of  delight,  he  sprang  up  against 
Rufe,  who,  reeling  under  the  shock,  oropped 
the  remnant  of  the  papaw.  Towse  darted 
upon  it,  sniffed  disdainfully,  and  returned  to 
his  capers  around  Rufe,  evidently  declining  to 
believe  that  all  that  shoT,v  of  gustatory  satisfac 
tion  had  been  elicited  only  by  the  papaw,  and 
that  Rufe  had  nothing  else  to  eat. 

Thus  the  two  took  their  way  out  of  the  tan- 
yard  ;  and  even  after  they  had  disappeared, 
their  progress  through  the  underbrush  was 
marked  by  an  abnormal  commotion  among  the 
leaves,  as  the  saltatory  skeptic  of  a  dog  in 
sisted  on  more  substantial  favors  than  the  suc 
culent  papaw. 

The  tanner  smoked  for  a  time  in  silence. 

Then,  "  Birt  ain't  goin'  ter  be  let  ter  work 
hyar  ag'in,"  he  said. 

Byers  elevated  his  shaggy  eyebrows  in  sur 
prise. 

"  Ye  see,"  said  the  tanner  in  a  confidential 
undertone,  "  sence  Birt  hev  stole  that  thar 
grant,  I  kin  argufy  ez  he  mought  steal  su'thiu' 


144  DO  ivy  THE 

else,  an'  I  ain't  ekal  ter  keepin1  up  a  spry  look 
out  on  things,  an'  bcm'  partic'hir  'bout  tin- 
count  o*  the  hides  an'  seeh.  I  can't  feel  easy 
with  sech  a  raischeevious  scamp  around." 

Byers  made  no  rejoinder,  and  the  tanner, 
puffing  his  pipe,  vaguely  watched  the  wreaths 
of  smoke  rise  above  his  head,  and  whisk  buoy 
antly  about  in  the  air,  and  finally  skurry  off 
into  invisibility.  A  gentle  breeze  was  astir  in 
the  woods,  and  it  set  the  leaves  to  whispering. 
The  treetoads  and  the  locusts  were  trolling  a 
chorus.  So  loudly  vibrant,  it  was  !  So  clam 
orously  gay!  Some  subtle  intimation  they 
surely  had  that  summer  was  ephemeral  and 
the  season  waning,  for  the  burden  of  their 
song  was,  Let  us  now  be  merry.  The  scarlet 
head  of  a  woodpecker  showed  brilliantly  from 
the  bare  dead  boughs  of  a  chestnut-oak,  which, 
with  its  clinging  lichens  of  green  and  gi"iy, 
was  boldly  projected  against  the  azure  sky. 
And  there,  the  filmy  moon,  most  dimly  visiMe 
in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  swung  like  some 
lunar  hallucination  among  the  cirrus  clouds. 
"Ye  'lows  ez  I  ain't  doin'  right  by  Bill?  " 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  145 

the  tanner  suggested  presently,  with  more 
conscience  in  the  matter  than  one  would  have 
given  him  credit  for  possessing. 

"I  knows  ye  air  doin'  right,"  said  Byers 
unexpectedly. 

All  at  once  the  woodpecker  was  solemnly 
tapping  —  tapping. 

Byers  glanced  up,  as  if  to  discern  whence 
the  sudden  -sound  came,  and  once  more  bent  to 
his  work. 

"  Ye  b'lieves,  then,  ez  he  stole  that  thar 
grant  from  Nate  Griggs  ?  "  asked  Perkins. 

"I  be  sure  he  done  it,"  said  Byers,  un 
equivocally. 

The  tanner  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips. 
"  What  ails  ye  ter  say  that,  Andy  ?  "  he  ex 
claimed  excitedly. 

Andy  Byers  hesitated.  He  mechanically 
passed  his  fingers  once  or  twice  across  the 
blunt,  curved  blade  of  the  two-handled  knife. 

"  Ye  '11  keep  the  secret  ?  " 

"  In  the  sole  o'  my  boot,"  said  the  tanner. 

"  Waal,  I  knows  ez  Birt  stole  the  grant. 
I  hev  been  powerful  changeful,  though,  in  my 

10 


146  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

thoughts  bout'n  it.  At  fust  I  war  glad  when 
he  war  suspicioned  'bout'n  it,  an'  I  war  minded 
to  go  an'  inform  on  him  an'  sech,  ter  pay  him 
back ;  'kase  I  held  a  grudge  ag'in  him,  be- 
lievin'  ez  he  hed  dressed  out  that  thar  black 
berry  bush  ez  Mrs.  Price's  harnt.  An'  then 
I  'd  remember  ez  his  mother  war  a  widdrr- 
woman,  an'  he  war  nothin'  but  a  boy,  an' 
boys  air  bound  ter  be  gamesome  an'  full  o' 
jokes  wunst  in  a  while,  an'  I  'd  feel  like  I  war 
bound  ter  furgive  him  'bout  the  harnt.  An' 
then  ag'in  I  got  toler'ble  oneasy  fur  fear  the 
Law  mought  hold  me  'sponsible  fur  know  in' 
'bout  Birt's  crime  of  stealin'  the  grant  an'  yit 
not  tellin'  on  him.  An'  I  'd  take  ter  hopin' 
an'  prayin'  the  boy  would  confess,  so  ez  I 
would  n't  hev  ter  tell  on  him.  I  hev  been 
mightily  pestered  in  my  mind  lately  with  sech 
dilly-dallyin'." 

Again  the  sudden  tapping  of  the  woodpecker 
filled  the  pause. 

"  Did  ye  see  him  steal  the  grant,  Andy  ?  " 
asked  the  tanner,  with  bated  breath. 

"  Ez  good  ez  seen  him.     I  seen  him  slyin' 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  147 

round,  an'  I  hev  fund  the  place  whar  he  hev 
hid  it" 

And  the  woodpecker  still  was  solemnly  tap 
ping,  high  up  in  the  chestnut-oak  tree. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BIKT,  meanwhile,  was  trudging  along  in  the 
woods,  hardly  seeing  where  he  went,  hardly 
caring. 

He  had  not  had  even  a  vague  premonition 
when  the  tanner  told  him  that  he  might  have 
the  rest  of  the  day  off.  He  did  not  now  want 
the  holiday  which  would  once  have  so  rejoiced 
him,  and  he  said  as  much.  And  then  the 
tanner,  making  the  disclosure  by  degrees,  be 
ing  truly  sorry  to  part  with  the  boy,  intimated 
that  he  need  come  back  no  more. 

Birt  unharnessed  the  mule  by  the  sense  of 
touch  and  the  force  of  habit,  for  blinding  tears 
intervened  between  his  vision  and  the  rusty 
old  buckles  and  worn  straps  of  leather.  The 
animal  seemed  to  understand  that  something 
was  amiss,  and  now  and  then  turned  his  head 
interrogatively.  Somehow  Birt  was  glad  to 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  149 

feel  that  lie  left  at  least  one  friend  in  the  tan- 
yard,  albeit  ths  humblest,  for  he  had  always 
treated  the  beast  with  kindness,  and  he  was 
sure  the  mule  would  miss  him. 

When  he  reached  home  he  loitered  for  a 
time  outside  the  fence,  trying  to  nerve  himself 
to  witness  his  mother's  distress.  And  at  last 
his  tears  were  dried,  and  he  went  in  and  told 
her  the  news. 

It  was  hard  for  him  nowadays  to  understand 
that  simple  mother  of  his.  She  did  nothing 
that  he  expected.  To  be  sure  her  cheek  paled, 
her  eyes  looked  anxious  for  a  moment,  and 
her  hands  trembled  so  that  she  carefully  put 
down  upon  the  table  a  dish  which  she  had 
been  wiping.  But  she  said  quite  calmly, 
"  Waal,  sonny,  I  dunno  but  ye  hed  better  take 
a  day  off  from  work,  sure  enough,  an*  go 
a-huntiu'.  Thar's  yer  rifle,  an'  mebbe  ye '11 
git  a  shot  at  a  deer  down  yander  by  the  lick. 
The  chill'n  haint  hed  no  wild  meat  lately, 
'ceptin'  squir'ls  out'n  Rufe's  trap." 

And  then  he  began  to  cry  out  bitterly  that 
nobody  would  give  him  work,  and  they  would 


150  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

all  starve ;  that  the  tanner  believed  he  had 
stolen  the  grant,  and  was  afraid  to  have  him 
about  the  hides. 

"  'T  ain't  no  differ  ez  long  ez  't  ain't  the 
'truth,"  said  his  mother  philosophically.  "  We- 
uns  will  jes'  abide  by  the  truth." 

He  repeated  this  phrase  over  and  over  as 
he  struggled  through  the  tangled  underbrush 
of  the  dense  forest. 

It  was  all  like  some  terrible  dream;  and 
but  for  Tennessee,  it  would  be  the  truth !  How 
he  blessed  the  little  sister  that  her  love  for 
him  and  his  love  for  her  had  come  between 
him  and  crime  at  that  moment  of  temptation. 

"  So  powerful  peart ! "  he  muttered  with 
glistening  eyes,  as  he  thought  of  her. 

The  grant  was  gone,  to  be  sure  ;  but  he  did 
not  take  it.  They  accused  him  —  and  falsely ! 

It  was  something  to  be  free  and  abroad  in 
the  woods.  He  heard  the  wind  singing  in  the 
pines.  Their  fine,  penetrating  aroma  per 
vaded  the  air,  and  the  rusty  needles,  covering 
the  ground,  muffled  his  tread.  Once  he  paused 
—  was  that  the  bleat  of  a  fawn,  away  down  on 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  151 

the  mountain's  slope?  He  heard  no  more, 
and  he  walked  on,  looking  about  with  his  old 
alert  interest.  He  was  refreshed,  invigora 
ted,  somehow  consoled,  as  he  went.  O  wise 
mother !  he  wondered  if  she  foresaw  this  when 
she  sent  him  into  the  woods. 

He  had  not  before  noted  how  the  season 
was  advancing.  Here  and  there,  in  the  midst 
of  the  dark  green  foliage,  leaves  shone  so  viv 
idly  yellow  that  it  seemed  as  if  upon  them 
some  fascinated  sunbeam  had  expended  all  its 
glamours.  In  a  dusky  recess  he  saw  the  crim 
son  sumach  flaring.  And  the  distant  blue 
mountains,  and  the  furthest  reaches  of  the 
azure  sky,  and  the  sombre  depths  of  the 
wooded  valley,  and  the  sheeny  splendors  of  the 
afternoon  sun,  and  every  incident  of  crag  or 
chasm  —  all  appeared  through  a  soft  purple 
haze  that  possessed  the  air,  and  added  an  ideal 
embellishment  to  the  scene.  Down  the  ravine 
the  "  lick  "  shone  with  the  lustre  of  a  silver 
lakelet.  He  saw  the  old  oak-tree  hard  by, 
with  the  historic  scaffold  among  its  thinning 
leaves,  and  further  along  the  slope  were  visi- 


152  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

ble  vague  bobbing  figures,  which  he  recognized 
as  the  "Griggs  gang,"  seeking  111*011  tin-  moun 
tain  side  the  gold  which  he  had  discovered. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  light  crackling  in  the 
brush,  —  a  faint  footfall.  It  reminded  him 
of  the  deer-path  close  at  hand.  He  cnuirhrd 
down  noiselessly  amongst  the  low  growth  and 
lifted  his  rifle,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  point 
where  the  path  disappeared  in  the  bushes,  and 
where  he  would  first  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
approaching  animal. 

He  heard  the  step  again.  His  finger  was 
trembling  on  the  trigger,  when  down  the  path 
leisurely  walked  an  old  gentleman  attired  in 
black,  a  hammer  in  his  hand,  and  a  pair  of 
gleaming  spectacles  poised  placidly  upon  the 
bridge  of  an  intellectual  Roman  nose.  Ami 
this  queer  game  halted  in  the  middle  of  the 
deer-path,  all  unconscious  of  his  deadly  danger. 

It  was  a  wonder  that  the  rifle  was  not  dis 
charged,  for  the  panic-stricken  Birt  had  lost 
control  of  his  muscles,  and  his  convulsive  fin 
ger  was  still  quivering  on  the  trigger  as  he 
trembled  from  head  to  foot.  He  hardly  dared 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  153 

to  try  to  move  the  gun.  For  a  moment  he 
could  not  speak.  He  gazed  in  open-mouthed 
amazement  at  the  unsuspecting  old  gentleman, 
who  was  also  unaware  of  the  far  more  formi 
dable  open  mouth  of  the  rifle. 

"  Now,  ain't  ye  lackin'  fur  head-stuffin'  ?  " 
suddenly  yelled  out  Birt,  from  his  hiding- 
place. 

The  startled  old  man  jumped,  with  the 
most  abrupt  alacrity.  In  fact,  despite  his  age 
and  the  lack  of  habit,  he  bounded  as  acrobat 
ically  from  the  ground  as  the  expected  deer 
could  have  done.  He  was,  it  is  true,  a  learned 
man;  but  science  has  no  specific  for  sudden 
fright,  and  he  jumped  as  ignorantly  as  if  he 
did  not  know  the  difficult  name  of  any  of  the 
muscles  that  so  alertly  exercised  themselves 
on  this  occasion. 

Birt  rose  at  last  to  his  feet  and  looked  with 
a  pallid  face  over  the  underbrush.  "Now, 
ain't  ye  lackin'  fur  head-stuffin',"  he  faltered, 
"  a-steppin'  along  a  deer-path  ez  nat'ral  ez  ef 
ye  war  a  big  fat  buck  ?  I  kem  mighty  nigh 
shootin'  ye." 


154  DOWN  TI1E  RA\1NE. 

The  old  gentleman  recovered  his  equilib 
rium,  mental  and  physical,  with  marvelous 
rapidity. 

"  Ah,  my  young  friend,"  —  he  motioned  to 
Birt  to  come  nearer,  —  "I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

Birt  stared.  One  might  have  inferred,  from 
the  tone,  that  the  gentleman  had  expected  to 
meet  him  here,  whereas  Birt  had  just  had  the 
best  evidence  of  his  senses  that  the  encounter 
was  a  great  surprise. 

The  boy  observed  his  interlocutor  more  care 
fully  than  he  had  yet  been  able  to  do.  He 
remembered  all  at  once  Rufe's  queer  story  of 
meeting,  down  the  ravine,  an  eccentric  old 
man  whom  he  was  disposed  to  identify  as 
Satan.  As  the  stranger  stood  there  in  the 
deer-path,  he  looked  precisely  as  Rufe  had  de 
scribed  him,  even  to  the  baffling  glitter  of  his 
spectacles,  his  gray  whiskers,  and  the  curiously 
shaped  hammer  in  his  hand. 

Birt,  although  bewildered  and  still  tremu 
lous  from  the  shock  to  his  nerves,  was  not  so 
superstitious  as  Rufe,  and  he  shouldered  his 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  155 

gun,  and,  pushing  out  from  the  tangled  under 
brush,  joined  the  old  man  in  the  path. 

"  I  want,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  to  hire  a 
boy  for  a  few  days  —  weeks,  perhaps." 

He  smiled  with  two  whole  rows  of  teeth 
that  never  grew  where  they  stood.  Birt  wished 
he  could  see  the  expression  of  the  stranger's 
eyes,  indistinguishable  behind  the  spectacles 
that  glimmered  in  the  light. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  fifty  cents  a  day  ?  " 
he  continued  briskly. 

Birt's  heart  sank  suddenly.  He  had  heard 
that  Satan  traded  in  souls  by  working  on  the 
avarice  of  the  victim.  The  price  suggested 
seemed  a  great  deal  to  Birt,  for  in  this  region 
there  is  little  cash  in  circulation,  barter  serv 
ing  all  the  ordinary  purposes  of  commerce. 

As  he  hesitated,  the  old  man  eyed  him  quiz 
zically.  "  Afraid  of  work,  eh  ?  " 

"  Naw,  sir !  "  said  Birt,  sturdily. 

Ah,  if  the  bark-mill,  and  the  old  mule,  and 
the  tan-pit,  and  the  wood-pile,  and  the  corn 
field  might  testify ! 

"  Fifty  cents  a  day  —  eh  ?  "  said  the  stran 
ger. 


156  Doir.v  THE  RAVINE. 

At  the  repetition  of  the  sum,  it  occurred  to 
Birt,  growing  more  familiar  with  the  eccen 
tricity  of  his  companion,  that  he  ought  not  in 
sheer  silliness  to  throw  away  a  chance  for  em 
ployment. 

"  Kin  I  ask  my  mother  ? "  he  said  dubi 
ously. 

"  By  all  means  ask  your  mother,"  replied 
the  stranger  heartily. 

Birt's  hist  fantastic  doubt  vanished.  Oh  no  ! 
this  was  not  Satan  in  disguise.  When  did  the 
enemy  ever  counsel  a  boy  to  ask  his  mother  ! 

Birt  still  stared  gravely  at  him.  All  the  de 
tails  of  his  garb,  manner,  speech,  even  the 
hammer  in  his  hand,  were  foreign  to  the  boy's 
experience. 

Presently  he  ventured  a  question.  "  Do  you- 
uns  hail  from  hyar-abouts  ?  " 

The  stranger  was  frank  and  communicative. 
He  told  Birt  that  he  was  a  professor  of  Nat 
ural  Science  in  a  college  in  one  of  the  "  valley 
towns,"  and  that  he  was  sojourning,  for  his 
health's  sake,  at  a  little  watering-place  some 
twelve  miles  distant  on  the  bench  of  the  rnoun- 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  157 

tain.  Occasionally  he  made  an  excursion'  into 
the  range,  which  was  peculiarly  interesting 
geologically. 

"  But  what  I  wish  you  to  do  is  to  dig  for  — 
bones." 

"  Bones  ?  "  faltered  Birt. 

"  Bones,"  reiterated  the  professor  solemnly. 

Did  his  spectacles  twinkle  ? 

Birt  stood  silent,  vaguely  wondering  what 
his  mother  would  think  of  "  bones." 

Presently  the  professor,  seeing  that  the  boy 
was  not  likely  to  ask  amusing  questions,  ex 
plained. 

He  informed  Birt  that  in  the  neighborhood 
of  salt  licks  —  "  saline  quagmires  "  he  called 
them  —  were  often  found  the  remains  of  ani 
mals  of  an  extinct  species,  which  are  of  great 
value  to  science.  He  gave  Birt  the  extremely 
long  name  of  these  animals,  and  descanted 
upon  such  conditions  of  their  existence  as  is 
known,  much  of  which  Birt  did  not  understand. 
Although  this  fact  was  very  apparent,  it  did 
not  in  the  least  affect  the- professor's  ardor  in 
the  theme.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  talking  of 


158  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

these  things  to  boys  who  did  not  understand, 
and  alack !  to  boys  who  did  not  want  to  under 
stand. 

One  point,  however,  he  made  very  clear. 
With  the  hope  of  some  such  "  find,"  he  was 
anxious  to  investigate  this  particular  lick,  — 
about  which  indeed  he  had  heard  a  vague  tra 
dition  of  a  "  big  bone  "  discovery,  such  as  is 
common  to  similar  localities  in  this  region,  — 
and  for  this  purpose  he  proposed  to  furnish 
th )  science  and  the  fifty  cents  per  diem,  and 
earnestly  desired  that  some  one  else  should 
furnish  the  muscle. 

He  was  accustomed  to  think  much  more 
rapidly  than  the  men  with  whom  Birt  was  as 
sociated,  and  his  briskness  in  arranging  the 
matter  had  an  incongruous  suggestion  or  the 
giddiness  of  youth.  He  said  that  he  would 
go  home  with  Birt  fc>  fetch  the  spade,  and 
while  there  he  could  settle  the  terms  with  the 
boy's  mother,  and  then  they  could  get  to  work. 

He  started  off  at  a  dapper  gait  up  the  deer- 
path,  while  Birt,  with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder, 
followed. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  159 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Birt.  He  stopped 
short. 

"  Now  /  dunno  which  side  o'  that  thar  lick 
Nate  Griggs's  line  runs  on,"  he  remarked. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  professor,  waving 
away  objections  with  airy  efficiency  ;  "  I  shall 
first  secure  the  consent  of  the  owner  of  the 
land." 

Birt  cogitated  for  a  moment.  "  Nate  Griggs 
ain't  goin'  ter  gin  his  cornsent  ter  nobody  ter 
dig  ennywhar  down  the  ravine,  ef  it  air  inside 
o'  his  lines,"  he  said  confidently,  "  'kase  I  — 
'kase  he  —  leastwise,  'kase  gold  hev  been  fund 
hyar  lately,  an'  he  hev  entered  the  land." 

The  professor  stopped  short  in  the  path. 

"  Gold !  "  he  ejaculated.    "  Gold !  " 

W5s  there  a  vibration  of  incredulity  in  his 
voice? 

Birt  remembered  all  at  once  the  specimens 
which  he  had  picked  up  that  memorable  even 
ing,  down  the  ravine,  when  he  shot  the.  red 
fox.  Here  they  still  were  in  his  pocket.  They 
showed  lustrous,  metallic,  yellow  gleams  as  he 
placed  them  carefully  in  the  old  man's  out- 


160  1>0\\'N  THE  A'.U7.\ 

stretched  hand,  telling  how  he  came  by  them, 
of  his  mistaken  confidence,  the  betrayed  trust, 
and  ending  by  pointing  at  the  group  of  gold- 
seekers,  microscopic  in  the  distance  on  the  op 
posite  slope. 

"  I  hev  hearn  tell,"  he  added,  "  ez  Nate 
air  count  in'  on  goin'  pardners  with  a  man  in 
Sparty,  who  hev  got  money,  to  work  the  gold 
mine." 

Now  and  then,  as  he  talked,  he  glanced  up 
at  his  companion's  face,  vaguely  expecting  to 
discover  his  opinion  by  its  expression,  but  the 
light  still  played  in  a  baffling  glitter  upon  his 
spectacles. 

Birt  could  only  follow  when  the  professor 
suddenly  handed  back  the  specimens  with  a 
peremptory  "  Come  —  come  !  We  must  go 
for  the  spade.  But  when  we  reach  your 
mother's  house  I  will  test  this  mineral,  an. I 
you  shall  see  for  yourself  what  you  have  lost." 

Mrs.  Dicey's  first  impression  upon  meeting 
the  stranger  and  learning  of  his  mission  was 
not  altogether  surprise  as  Birt  had  expected. 
Her  chief  absorption  was  a  deep  thankful* 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  161 

ness  that  the  floors  all  preserved  their  freshly 
scoured  appearance. 

"  Fur  ef  Rufe  hed  been  playin'  round  hyar 
ter-day,  same  ez  common,  the  rubbish  would 
have  been  a  scandal  ter  the  kentry,"  she  re 
flected. 

In  fact,  all  was  s.o  neat,  albeit  so  poor,  that 
the  stranger  felt  as  polite  as  he  looked,  while 
he  talked  to  her  about  employing  Birt  in  his 
researches. 

Birt,  however,  had  little  disposition  to  listen 
to  this.  He  was  excited  by  the  prospect  of 
testing  the  mineral,  and  he  busied  himself  with 
great  alacrity  in  preparing  for  it  under  the 
professor's  directions.  He  suffered  a  qualm, 
it  is  true,  as  he  pounded  the  shining  fragments 
into  a  coarse  powder,  and  then  he  drew  out 
with  the  shovel  a  great  glowing  mass  of  live 
coals  on  the  hearth. 

The  dogs  peered  eagerly  in  at  the  door,  hav 
ing  followed  the  stranger  with  the  liveliest 
curiosity.  Towse,  bolder  than  the  rest,  entered 
intrepidly  with  a  nonchalant  air  and  a  wag 
ging  tail,  for  he  and  Rufe,  having  failed  to 
11 


162  DOWX  TIII-: 

find  Birt,  had  just  returned  limne.  The  small 
boy  paused  on  the  threshold  in  amazed  rec 
ognition  of  the  old  gentleman  who  had  occa 
sioned  him  such  a  fright  that  day  down  the 
ravine. 

The  professor  gesticulated  a  great  deal  as 
he  bent  over  the  fire  ami  gave  Birt  directions, 
and,  with  his  waving  hands  and  the  glow  on 
his  hoary  hair  and  beard,  he  looked  like  some 
fantastic  sorcerer.  Somehow  Rufe  was  glad  to 
see  the  familiar  countenances  of  Pete  and  Joe, 
and  was  still  more  reassured  to  note  that  his 
mother  was  quietly  standing  beside  the  table, 
as  she  stirred  the  batter  for  bread  in  a  wooden 
bowl.  Tennessee  had  pressed  close  to  Birt, 
her  chubby  hand  clutching  his  collar  as  ho 
knelt  on  the  hearth.  lie  held  above  the  glow 
ing  coals  a  long  fire  shovel,  on  which  the  pul 
verized  mineral  had  been  placed,  and  his 
were  very  -  li.-  e.-irm  >t'y  \vaL-lied  it. 

"  If  it  is  gold,"  said  the  old  man,  "  a  mod 
erate  heat  will  not  affect  it." 

The  shovel  was  growing  hot.    The  live  coals 
glowed  beneath  it.    The  breath  of  the  firo 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  163 

stirred  Tennessee's  flaxen  hair.  And  Birt's 
dilated  eyes  saw  the  yellow  particles  still  glis 
tening  unchanged  in  the  centre  of  the  shovel, 
which  was  beginning  to  redden. 


CHAPTER  XL 

SUDDENLY — was  the  glistening  yellow  min 
eral  taking  fire  ?  It  began  to  give  off  sulphur 
ous  fumes.  And  drifting  away  with  them 
were  all  Birt's  golden  visions  and  Nate's  ill- 
gotten  wealth  —  ending  in  smoke  ! 

The  sulphurous  odor  grew  stronger.  Even 
Towse  stopped  short,  and  gazed  at  the  shovel 
with  a  reprehensive  sniff. 

"  Ker-shoo  !  "  he  sneezed. 

And  commenting  thus,  he  turned  abruptly 
and  went  hastily  out,  with  a  startled  look  and 
a  downcast  tail. 

His  sneeze  seemed  to  break  the  spell  of 
silence  that  had  fallen  on  the  little  group. 

"  It  be  mighty  nigh  bodaciously  changed  ter 
cinders !  "  exclaimed  Birt,  staring  in  amaze  at 
the  lustreless  contents  of  the  shovel  from  which 
every  suggestion  of  golden  glimmer  had  faded. 
"  What  do  it  be,  ef  'tain't  gold  ?  " 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  165 

"  Iron  pyrites,"  said  the  professor.  "  '  Fools' 
gold,'  it  is  often  called." 

He  explained  to  Birt  that  in  certain  forma 
tions,  however,  gold  is  associated  with  iron 
pyrites,  and  when  the  mineral  is  properly 
roasted,  this  process  serving  to  expel  the  sul 
phur,  the  fine  particles  of  gold  are  found  held 
in  the  resulting  oxide  of  iron.  But  the  variety 
of  the  mineral  discovered  down  the  ravine  he 
said  was  valueless,  unless  occurring  in  vast 
quantities,  when  it  is  sometimes  utilized  in  the 
production  of  sulphur. 

"  I  wonder,"  Birt  broke  out  suddenly,  "  if 
the  assayer  won't  find  no  gold  in  them  samples 
ez  Nate  sent  him." 

The  professor  laughed.  "  The  assayer  will 
need  the  '  philosopher's  stone '  to  find  gold  in 
any  samples  from  this  locality." 

"  Ye  knowed  then,  all  the  time,  ez  this  stuff 
warn't  gold  ?  "  asked  Birt. 

"  All  the  time,"  rejoined  the  elder. 

"  An'  Nate  hev  got  the  steepest,  rockiest 
spot  in  the  kentry  ter  pay  taxes  on,"  resumed 
Birt,  reflectively.  "An'  he  hev  shelled  out 


166  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

a  power  o'  money  ter  the  surveyor,  an'  seoh, 
a'ready.  I  reckon  he  '11  be  mightily  outed 
when  he  finds  out  ez  the  min'ral  ain't  gold." 

Birt  stopped  short  in  renewed  anxiety. 

That  missing  grant !  Somehow  he  felt  sure 
that  Nate,  balked  of  the  great  gains  he  had 
promised  himself,  would  wreak  his  disappoint 
ment  wherever  he  might ;  and  since  the  land 
was  of  so  little  value,  he  would  not  continue  to 
deny  himself  his  revenge  for  fear  that  an  in- 
Yestigation  into  the  priority  of  the  mineral's 
discovery  might  invalidate  the  entry.  Once 
more  Birt  was  tortured  by  the  terror  of  arrest 
—  he  might  yet  suffer  a  prosecution  from 
malignity,  which  had  hitherto  been  withheld 
from  policy.  If  only  the  mystery  of  the  lost 
grant  could  be  solved  ! 

The  conversation  of  the  elders  had  returned 
to  the  subject  of  the  investigations  around  the 
"lick  "  and  the  terms  for  Birt's  services.  As 
so  much  time  had  been  consumed  with  the  py 
rites,  the  professor  concluded  with  some  vexa 
tion  that  they  could  hardly  arrange  all  the 
preliminaries  and  get  to  work  this  afternoon. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  167 

"I  dare  say  we  had  best  begin  to-morrow 
morning,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Birt  can't  go  a-diggin'  no-ways,  this 
evenin',"  put  in  the  officious  Rufe,  who  stood, 
according  to  his  wont,  listening  with  his  mouth 
and  eyes  wide  open,  "  'kase  ez  I  kem  home 
by  the  tanyard  Jube  Perkins  hollered  ter  me 
ter  tell  Birt  ter  come  thar  right  quick.  I 
furgot  it  till  this  minit,"  he  added,  with  a 
shade  of  embarrassment  that  might  pass  for 
apology. 

Birt  felt  a  prophetic  thrill.  This  summons 
promised  developments  of  importance.  Only 
a  few  hours  ago  he  was  discharged  under  sus 
picion  of  dishonesty ;  why  this  sudden  recall  ? 
He  did  not  know  whether  hope  or  fear  was 
paramount.  He  trembled  with  eager  expec 
tancy.  He  seized  his  hat,  and  strode  out  of 
the  house  without  waiting  to  hear  more  of  the 
professor's  plans  or  the  details  of  the  wages. 

He  had  reached  the  fence  before  he  discov 
ered  Tennessee  close  at  his  heels.  He  cast  his 
troubled  eyes  down  upon  her,  and  met  her 
pleading,  upturned  gaze.  He  was  about  to 


168  DO]Vy  THE  RAVINE. 

charge  her  to  go  back.  But  then  he  remem 
bered  how  she  had  followed  him  with  blessings 
—  how  mercy  had  kept  pace  with  her  steps. 
He  would  not  deny  her  the  simple  boon  she 
craved,  and  if  she  were  troublesome  and  in  his 
way,  surely  he  might  be  patient  with  her,  since 
she  loved  him  so!  He  lifted  her  over  the 
fence,  and  then  started  briskly  down  the  path, 
the  sturdy,  light-footed  little  mountain  girl 
delightedly  trudging  along  in  the  rear. 

When  he  entered  the  tanyard  no  one  was 
there  except  Jube  Perkins  and  Andy  Byers : 
the  tanner,  lounging  as  usual  on  the  wood-pile, 
and  the  workman,  with  scarcely  less  the  aspect 
of  idleness,  dawdlingly  scraping  a  hide  on  the 
wooden  horse.  Birt  discerned  a  portent  in 
the  unwonted  solemnity  of  their  faces,  and  his 
heart  sank. 

"  Waal,  Birt,  we-uns  hev  been  a-waitin'  fur 
ye,"  said  the  tanner  in  a  subdued,  grave  tone 
that  somehow  reminded  Birt  of  the  bated 
voices  in  a  house  of  tli-ath.  "  Set  down  hyar 
on  the  wood-pile,  fur  Andy  an'  me  hev  got  a 
word  ter  say  ter  ye." 


• 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  169 

Birt's  dilated  black  eyes  turned  in  dumb  ap 
peal  from  one  to  the  other  as  he  sank  down  on 
the  wood-pile.  His  suspense  gnawed  him  like 
an  actual  grief  while  Jubal  Perkins  slowly 
shifted  his  position  and  looked  vaguely  at 
Andy  Byers  for  a  suggestion,  being  uncertain 
how  to  begin. 

"Waal,  Birt,"  he  drawled  at  last,  "ez  yer 
dad  is  dead  an'  ye  hev  got  nobody  ter  see 
arter  ye  an'  advise  ye,  Andy  an'  me,  we-uns 
agreed  ez  how  we  'd  talk  ter  ye  right  plain,  an' 
try  ter  git  ye  ter  jedge  o'  this  hyar  matter  like 
we-uns  do.  Andy  an'  me  know  more  'bout 
the  law,  an'  'bout  folks  too,  than  ye  does. 
These  hyar  Griggs  folks  hev  always  been  mis 
doubted  ez  a  fractious  an'  contrary-wise  fam- 
bly.  Ef  enny  Griggs  ain't  aggervatin'  an 
captious,  it  air  through  bein'  plumb  terrified 
by  the  t'others.  They  air  powerful  hard  folks 
—  an'  they  '11  land  ye  in  the  State  Prison  yet, 
I  'm  thinkin'.  I  wonder  they  hain't  started  at 
ye  a'ready.  But  thar's  no  countin'  on  'em, 
'ceptin'  that  they  '11  do  all  they  kin  that  air 
ha'sh  an'  grindin'." 


170  DOWN  TUB  RAVINE. 

"That  air  a  true  word,  Birt,"  said  Andy 
Byers,  speaking  to  the  boy  for  the  first  time  in 
many  days.  "  Ef  they  hev  thar  reason  fur  it, 
they  mought  hold  thar  hand  fur  a  time,  but 
fust  or  las'  they  '11  hev  all  out'n  ye  ez  the  law 
will  allow  'em." 

Birt  listened  in  desperation.  All  this  was 
sharpened  by  the  certainty  hat  the  mineral 
was  only  valueless  pyrites,  and  the  prescience 
of  Nate's  anger  when  this  fact  shoidd  come  to 
his  knowledge,  and  prudence  no  longer  restrain 
him.  His  rage  would  vent  itself  on  his  luck 
less  victim  for  every  cent,  every  mill,  that  the 
discovery  of  the  "  fools'  gold  "  had  cost  him. 

"  They  '11  be  takin'  ye  away  from  the  moun 
tings  ter  jail  ye  an'  try  ye,  an'  mebbe  ye  '11  go 
ter  the  pen'tiary  arter  that.  An'  how  will  yer 
mother,  an'  brothers,  an'  sister,  git  thar  vittles, 
an'  firewood,  an'  corn-crap  an'  clothes,  an'  sech 
—  Rufe  bein'  the  oldest  child,  arter  you-uns?"- 
demanded  the  tanner.  "An'  even  when  ye 
git  back  —  I  hate  ter  tell  ye  this  word  —  no 
body  will  want  ye  round.  They  '11  be  feared 
ye  'd  be  forever  pickin'  an'  stealin'." 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  171 

"  But  we-uns  will  stand  up  fur  ye,  bein'  ez 
ye  air  the  widder's  son,"  said  Byers  eagerly. 
"  We-uns  will  gin  the  Griggs  tribe  ter  onder- 
stand  that." 

"  An'  mebbe  the  Griggses  won't  want  ter  do 
nuthin',  ef  they  hain't  got  no  furder  cause  fur 
holdin'  a  grudge,"  put  in  the  tanner. 

"  What  be  ye  a-layin'  off  "fur  me  ter  do?" 
asked  Birt  wonderingly. 

"  Ter  gin  Nate's  grant  back  ter  him,"  they 
both  replied  in  a  breath. 

"  I  hev  not  got  it !  "  cried  poor  Birt  tumul- 
tuously.  "  I  never  stole  it !  I  dunno  whar  it 
be!" 

The  tanner's  expression  changed  from  pater 
nal  kindliness  to  contemptuous  anger. 

"  Air  ye  goin'  ter  keep  on  bein'  a  liar,  Birt, 
ez  well  ez  a  thief  ?  "  he  said  sternly. 

"  I  dunno  whar  it  be,"  reiterated  Birt  des 
perately. 

"  /  know  whar  it  be,"  said  Byers. 

Birt  gazed  at  him  astounded. 

"  Whar  ?  "  he  cried  eagerly. 

"  Whar  ye  hid  it,"  returned  Byers  coolly. 


172  DOWN   THE  RAVL\E. 

Birt's  lips  moved  with  difficulty  as  he  husk 
ily  ejaculated  "  I  never  hid  it  —  I  never !  " 

"  Ye  need  n't  deny  it  I  ez  good  ez  seen  ye 
hide  it" 

Birt  looked  dazed  for  a  moment.  Then 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  face  and  as  suddenly 
receded,  leaving  it  pale  and  rigid.  He  was 
cold  and  trembling.  He  could  not  speak. 

The  tanner  scrutinized  him  narrowly.  Then 
he  said,  "  Tell  him  'bout  it,  Andy.  Tell  him 
jes'  ez  ye  tole  me.  An'  mebbe  he  '11  hev  sense 
enough  ter  gin  it  up  when  he  sees  he  air  fairly 
caught." 

"  Waal,"  said  Byers,  leaning  back  against 
the  wall  of  the  smoke-house,  and  holding  the 
knife  idly  poised  in  his  hand,  "  I  kem  down 
ter  the  tanyard  betimes  that  mornin'  arter  the 
storm.  Both  ye  an'  Birt  war  late.  I  notified 
Nate  Griggs's  coat  hangin'  thar  in  the  shed, 
with  a  paper  stickin'  out'n  the  pocket,  ez  I 
started  inter  the  smoke-house  ter  tend  ter  the 
fire.  I  reckon  I  mus'  hev  made  consider'ble 
racket  in  thar,  'kase  I  never  hearn  nuthin'  till 
I  sot  down  afore  the  fire  on  a  log  o'  wood,  an' 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  173 

lit  my  pipe.  All  of  a  suddenty  thar  kem  a 
step  outside,  toler'ble  light  on  the  tan.  I  jes' 
'lowed  't  war  ye  or  Birt.  But  I  happened  ter 
look  up,  an'  thar  I  see  a  couple  o'  big  black 
eyes  peepin'  through  that  thar  crack  in  the 
wall." 

He  turned  and  pointed  out  a  crevice  where 
the  "  daubin'  "  had  fallen  from  the  "  chinkin'  " 
between  the  logs. 

"  Ye  can  see,"  he  resumed,  "  ez  this  hyar 
crack  air  jes'  the  height  o'  Birt.  Waal,  them 
eyes  lookin'  in  so  onexpected  did  n't  'sturb  me 
none.  I  hev  knowed  the  Dicey  eye  fur  thirty 
year,  an'  thar  ain't  none  like  'emnowhar  round 
the  mountings.  But  I  'lowed  't  war  toler'ble 
sassy  in  Birt  ter  stand  thar  peerin'  at  me 
through  the  chinkin'.  I  never  let  on,  though, 
ez  I  viewed  him.  An'  then,  them  eyes  jes'  set 
up  sech  a  outdacious  winkin'  an'  wallin',  an' 
squinchin',  ez  I  knowed  he  war  makin'  faces 
at  me.  So  I  jes'  riz  up  —  an'  the  eyes  slipped 
away  from  thar  in  a  hurry.  I  war  aimin'  ter 
larrup  Birt  fur  his  sass,  but  I  stopped  ter 
hang  up  a  skin  ez  I  Led  knocked  down.  It 


. 


174  Doir.v  THE  HAVIXE. 

never  tuk  me  long,  much,  but  when  I  went  out, 
thar  war  n't  nobody  ter  be  seen  in  the  tan- 
yard." 

He  paused  to  place  one  foot  upon  the  wooden 
horse,  and  he  leaned  forward  with  a  reflective 
expression,  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  and  his  hand 
holding  his  bearded  chin. 

The  afternoon  was  waning.  The  scarlet  sun 
in  magnified  splendor  was  ablaze  low  down  in 
the  saffron  west.  The  world  seemed  languor 
ously  afloat  in  the  deep,  serene  flood  of  light. 
Shadows  were  lengthening  slowly.  The  clangor 
of  a  cow-bell  vibrated  in  the  distance. 

The  drone  of  Andy  Byers's  voice  overbore 
it  as  he  recommenced. 

'•  Waal,  I  was  sorter  conflusticated,  an'  I 
looked  round  powerful  sharp  ter  see  whar 
Birt  hed  disappeared  to.  I  happened  ter  cut 
my  eye  round  at  that  thar  pit  ex  he  lied  finished 
layin'  the  tan  in,  an'  kivered  with  boards,  an' 
weighted  with  rocks  that  day  ez  ye  an'  me  hod 
fen  go  an'  attend  on  old  Mrs.  Price.  Ye  know 
we  counted  ez  that  thar  pit  would  n't  be  opened 
ag'in  fur  a  right  smart  time  ?  " 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  175 

The  tanner  nodded  assent. 

"  Waal,  I  noticed  ez  the  aidge  o'  one  o'  them 
boards  war  sot  sorter  catawampus,  an'  I  'lowed 
ez  't  war  the  wind  ez  hed  'sturbed  it.  Ez  I 
stooped  down  ter  move  it  back  in  its  place,  I 
seen  su'thin'  white  under  it.  So  I  lifted  the 
board,  an'  thar  I  see,  lyin'  on  the  tan  a-top  o' 
the  pit,  a  stiff  white  paper.  I  looked  round 
toward  the  shed,  an'  thar  hung  the  coat  yit  — 
with  nuthin1  in  the  pocket.  I  did  n't  know 
edzactly  what  ter  make  of  it,  an'  I  jes'  shunted 
the  plank  back  over  the  paper  in  the  pit  like 
I  fund  it,  an'  waited  ter  see  what  mought  hap 
pen.  An'  all  the  time  ez  that  thar  racket  war 
goin'  on  bout'n  the  grant,  /  knowed  powerful 
well  whar  't  war,  an'  who  stole  it." 

Birt  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two 
men.  Both  evidently  believed  every  syllable 
of  this  story.  It  was  so  natural,  so  credible, 
that  he  had  a  curious  sense  of  inclining  toward 
it,  too.  Had  he  indeed,  in  some  aberration, 
taken  the  grant?  Was  it  some  tricksy  spirit 
in  his  likeness  that  had  peered  through  the 
chinking  at  Andy  Byers  ? 


176  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

He  could  find  no  words  to  contend  further. 
He  sat  silent,  numb,  dumfounded. 

"  Birt,"  said  the  tanner  coaxingly,  "  thar 
ain't  no  use  in  denyin'  it  enny  mo'.  Let  's  go 
an'  git  that  grant,  an'  take  it  ter  Nate  an'  tell 
the  truth." 

The  words  roused  Birt.  He  clutched  at  the 
idea  of  getting  possession  of  the  paper  that  had 
so  mysteriously  disappeared  and  baiftVil  and 
eluded  him.  He  could  at  least  return  it.  And 
even  if  this  should  fail  to  secure  him  lenient 
treatment,  he  would  feel  that  he  had  done 
right.  He  rose  suddenly  in  feverish  anxiety. 

Andy  Byers  and  Perkins,  exchanging  a  wink 
of  congratulation,  followed  him  to  the  pit. 

"  It  air  under  this  hyar  board,"  said  Byers, 
moving  one  of  the  heavy  stones,  and  lifting  a 
broad  plank. 

Perkins  pressed  forward  with  eager  curios 
ity,  never  having  seen  this  famous  grant. 

The  ground  bark  on  the  surface  was  pretty 
dry,  the  layer  being  ten  or  fifteen  inches  thick, 
and  the  tanning  infusion  had  not  yet  risen 
through  it. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  177 

Byers  stared  with  a  frown  at  the  tan,  and 
lifted  another  board.  Nothing  appeared  be 
neath  it  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  bark. 

In  sudden  alarm  they  took  away  the  boards, 
one  after  another,  till  all  were  removed,  and 
the  whole  surface  of  the  pit  was  exposed. 

Then  they  looked  at  each  other,  bewildered. 
For  once  more  the  grant  was  gone. 

12 


CHAPTER  XIL 

JTTBAL  PERKINS  broke  the  silence. 

"  Andy  Byere,"  he  exclaimed  wrathfully, 
"  what  sort  'n  tale  is  this  ez  ye  air  tryin'  ter 
fool  me  with?" 

Byera,  perturbed  and  indignant,  was  in 
stantly  ready  to  accuse  Birt. 

"Ye  hev  been  hyar  an'  got  the  grant  an' 
sneaked  it  off  agin,  hev  ye !  "  he  cried,  scowl 
ing  at  the  boy. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  tanner.  "  I  hope  I 
may  drap  dead,  Jube,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  ef 
that  grant  war  n't  right  hyar  "  —  he  pointed 
at  the  spot  —  "las'  night  whenst  I  lef  the 
tanyard.  I  always  looked  late  every  evenin* 
ter  be  sure  it  hed  n't  been  teched,  thinkin' 
I  'd  make  up  my  mind  in  the  night  whether 
I  'd  tell  on  Birt,  or  no.  But  I  never  could 
git  plumb  sati'fied  what  to  do." 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  179 

His  tone  carried  conviction.  The  tamier 
looked  at  Birt  with  disappointment  in  every 
line  of  his  face.  There  was  severity,  too,  in 
his  expression.  He  was  beginning  to  admit 
the  fitness  of  harsh  punishment  in  this  case. 

"  Ye  don't  wuth  all  this  gabblin'  an'  jawin* 
over  ye,  ye  miser'ble  leetle  critter,"  he  said. 
"  An'  I  ain't  goin'  ter  waste  another  breath 
on  ye." 

Birt  stood  vacantly  staring  at  the  tan.  All 
the  energy  of  the  truth  was  nullified  by  the 
futility  of  protestation. 

The  two  men  exchanged  a  glance  of  vague 
comment  upon  his  silence,  and  then  they  too 
looked  idly  down  at  the  pit. 

Tennessee  abruptly  caught  Birt's  listless 
hand  as  it  hung  at  his  side,  for  Towse  had  sud 
denly  entered  the  tanyard,  and  prancing  up  to 
her  in  joyous  recognition,  was  trying  to  lick 
her  face. 

"G'way,  Towse,"  she  drawled  gutturally. 
She  struck  vaguely  at  him  with  her  chubby 
little  fist,  which  he  waggishly  took  between  his 
teeth  in  a  gingerly  gentle  grip. 


180  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"  Stand  back  that,  Tennessee,"  Birt  mur 
mured  mechanically. 

As  usual,  Towse  was  the  precursor  of  Rufe, 
who  presently  dawdled  out  from  the  under 
brush.  He  quickened  his  steps  upon  observing 
the  intent  attitude  of  the  party,  and  as  he  came 
up  he  demanded  vivaciously,  "  What  ails 
that  thar  pit  o'  yourn,  Mister  Perkins?  — 
thought  ye  said  't  warn't  goin'  ter  be  opened 
ag'in  fore-shortly." 

For  a  moment  the  tanner  made  no  reply. 
Then  he  drawled  absently,  "  Nuthin'  ails  the 
pit,  Rufe  —  nuthin Y* 

Hufe  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  it,  and  gazed 
speculatively  at  it.  Presently  he  began  anew, 
unabashed  by  the  silence  of  the  grave  and  con 
templative  group. 

"  This  hyar  tan  hev  got  sorter  moist  a-top 
now  ;  I  wonder  ef  that  thar  grant  o'  Nate's  got 
spi'led  ennywise  with  the  damp." 

Birt  winced.  It  had  been  a  certain  mitiga 
tion  of  his  trouble  that,  thanks  to  his  mother's 
caution,  the  children  at  home  knew  nothing  of 
the  disgrace  that  had  fallen  upon  him,  and 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  181 

that  there,  at  least,  the  atmosphere  was  un 
tainted  with  suspicion. 

The  next  moment  he  was  impressed  by  the 
singularity  of  Rufe's  mention  of  the  missing 
grant  and  its  place  of  concealment. 

"  Look-a-hyar,  Rufe,"  he  exclaimed,  ex 
citedly  ;  "  how  d'  ye  know  ennything  'bout 
Nate's  grant  an'  whar  't  war  hid  ?  " 

Rufe  glanced  up  scornfully,  insulted  in  some 
occult  manner  by  the  question. 

"  How  did  I  know,  Birt  Dicey  ?  How  d'  ye 
know  yerse'f  ? "  he  retorted.  "  I  knows  a 
heap,  ginerally." 

Perkins,  catching  the  drift  of  Birt's  inten 
tion,  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Say,  bub,  how  d'  ye  know  the  grant  war 
ever  put  hyar  ?  " 

"Kase,"  responded  Rufe,  more  amicably, 
"  I  seen  it  put  hyar  —  right  yander." 

He  indicated  the  spot  where  the  paper  lay, 
according  to  Byers,  when  it  was  discovered. 

Birt  could  hardly  breathe.  His  anxieties, 
his  hopes,  his  fears,  seemed  a  pursuing  pack 
before  which  he  was  almost  spent.  He  panted 


182  DOWN  THE  RA  l'I\E. 

like  a  hunted  crentnro.  Tennessee  was  swing 
ing  herself  to  and  fro,  holding  by  his  hand. 
Sometimes  she  caught  at  Towse's  unlovely  car, 
as  he  sat  close  by  with  his  tongue  lolled  out 
and  an  attentive  air,  as  if  he  were  assisting  at 
the  discussion. 

"Who  put  it  thar,  bub?"  demanded  Per 
kins. 

It  would  not  have  surprised  Birt,  so  perverse 
had  been  the  course  of  events,  if  Rufe  had 
accused  him  on  the  spot. 

"  Pig-wigs  Griggs,"  replied  Rufe,  unex 
pectedly. 

A  glance  of  intelligence  passed  between  the 
men. 

"  Tell  'bout  it,  Rufe,"  said  the  tanner,  sup 
pressing  all  appearance  of  excitement. 

"Ye  ain't  goin'  ter  do  nuthin'  ter  Pig- wigs 
fur  foolin'  with  yer  pit,  ef  I  tell  ye  ?  "  asked 
Rufe,  quickly. 

"  Naw,  bub,  naw.  Which  Griggs  do  ye  call 
*  Pig-wigs?"' 

"  Why  —  Pig-wigs"  Rufe  reiterated  obvi 
ously. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  183 

Then  he  explained.  "  He  air  Nate's  nevy. 
He  air  Nate's  oldest  brother's  biggest  boy,  — 
though  he  ain't  sizable  much.  He  air  'bout 
haffen  ez  big  ez  me  —  ef  that,"  he  added  re 
flectively,  thinking  that  even  thus  divided  he 
had  represented  Pig- wigs  as  more  massive  than 
the  facts  justified. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  continued,  "  one  day  when  his 
uncle  Tim  war  over  hyar  ter  the  tanyard,  I  gin 
him  one  o'  my  game  deedies  ;  an'  ez  soon  ez  he 
got  home  he  showed  'em  all  that  thar  deedie  — 
powerful,  spryest  poultry  ye  ever  see !  " 

Kufe  smiled  ecstatically  as  only  a  chicken 
fancier  can. 

"  An'  Pig-wigs  war  plumb  c?e-stracted  fur  a 
deedie  too.  An'  he  run  all  the  way  over  hyar 
ter  git  me  ter  gin  him  one.  But  the  deedies 
hed  all  gone  ter  bed,  an'  the  old  hen  war  hov- 
erin'  of  'em,  an'  I  did  n't  want  ter  'sturb  'em," 
said  Rufe  considerately.  "  So  I  tole  Pig-wigs 
ter  meet  me  at  the  tanyard  early,  an'  I  'd  fetch 
him  one.  An'  ez  his  granny  war  goin'  visitin' 
her  merried  daughter,  she  let  him  ride  behind 
her  on  thar  sorrel  mare  ez  fur  ez  the  tanyard. 


184  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

So  he  got  hyar  'fore  I  did.  An'  I  kern  an' 
gin  him  the  deedie." 

Rufe  paused  abruptly,  as  if,  having  narrated 
this  important  transaction,  he  had  exhausted 
the  interest  of  the  subject. 

Byers  was  about  to  speak,  but  the  tanner 
with  a  gesture  repressed  him. 

"  Ye  hain't  tole  'bout  the  pit  an'  the  grant 
yit,  bubby,"  he  reminded  the  small  boy. 

Byers's  display  of  impatience  was  not  lost 
upon  Rufe,  and  it  added  to  the  general  acri 
mony  of  their  relations. 

"  Waal,"  the  small  boy  began  alertly,  "  we- 
uns  hed  the  deedie  behind  the  smoke-house 
thar,  an'  I  seen  him  "  —  Rufe  pointed  at  By 
ers  with  disfavor  —  "  a-comin'  powerful  slow 
inter  the  tan  yard,  an'  I  whispered  ter  Pig-wigs 
Griggs  ter  be  quiet,  an'  not  let  him  know  ez 
we-uns  war  thar,  'kase  he  war  always  a-jawin' 
at  me,  'thout  the  tanner  war  by  ter  keep  him 
ofFn  me.  So  we-uns  bided  thar  till  he  went 
inter  the  smoke-house.  An'  then  ez  we-uns 
kein  by  the  shed,  Pig- wigs  seen  his  uncle  Nate's 
coat  haugin'  on  a  peg  thar,  'kase  that  thar 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  185 

triflin'  Tim  bed  furgot,  an'  lef '  it  thar  when  he 
went  ter  see  the  deedies.  An'  Pig-wigs  Griggs, 
he  'lowed  he  knowed  the  coat  war  his  uncle 
Nate's  by  the  favior  of  it,  an'  he  reckoned  the 
paper  stickin'  out'n  the  pocket  war  the  grant  he 
hed  hearn  Nate  talkin'  'bout.  An'  I  whispered 
ter  him  ez  he  hed  better  ondertake  ter  tote  it 
home  ter  Nate.  An'  Pig-wigs  said  he  could  n't 
tote  the  coat,  bein'  so  lumbered  up  with  the 
deedie.  But  he  would  tote  the  grant  in  one 
hand  an'  the  deedie  in  t'other.  He  could  n't 
put  the  deedie  in  one  o'  his  pockets,  'kase  his 
mother  sews  'em  all  up,  bein'  ez  he  would 
kerry  sech  a  passel  o'  heavy  truck  in  'em,  — 
rocks  an'  sech,  reg'lar  bowlders,"  added  Eufe, 
with  a  casual  remembrance  of  the  museum  in 
his  own  pockets.  "  So  Pig-wigs's  mother  sewed 
'em  all  up,  'kase  she  said  they  war  tore  out  all 
the  time,  an'  she  seen  no  sense  in  a  boy  hevin' 
a  lot  o'  slits  in  his  clothes  ter  let  in  the  air 
slanchwise  on  him.  An'  Pig-wigs  'lowed  he  'd 
tote  the  grant  ef  I  would  git  it  fur  him.  An' 
I  did." 

"  How  did  you-uns  reach  up  ter  that  thar 


186  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

peg?"  demanded  Byers,  pointing  to  the  ]>»••.; 
on  which  the  coat  had  hung,  far  beyond  Rufe's 
reach. 

"Clumb  up  on  the  wooden  horse,"  said 
Rufe  promptly.  "I  peeked  through  the  chin- 
kin'  an'  seen  ye  thar  a-smokin'  yer  pipe  over 
the  fire." 

Rufe  winked  audaciously,  suddenly  convin 
cing  Byers  as  to  the  possessor  of  the  big  black 
eyes,  which  he  had  recognized  as  characteristic 
of  the  Dicey  family,  when  they  had  peered 
through  the  chinking. 

"  Waal,  how  did  the  grant  git  inter  the  pit, 
Rufe,  an'  what  hev  become  of  it  ?  "  asked  By 
ers,  overlooking  these  personalities,  for  he  felt 
a  certain  anxiety  in  the  matter,  being  the  last 
person  known  to  have  seen  the  grant,  wlfu-h, 
by  reason  of  his  delay  and  indecision,  had  again 
been  spirited  away. 

*'  Pig-wigs  put  it  thar,  I  tell  ye,"  reiterated 
Rufe.  "  Ye  see,  I  hcd  got  outside  o'  the  gate, 
an'  Pig-wigs  war  a  good  ways  behind,  walkin' 
toler'ble  slow,  beiu'  ez  he  hed  ter  kerry  the 
grant  in  one  hand  an'  the  deedie  in  t'other. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  187 

An'  thar  I  see  a-cropin'  along  on  the  ground 
a  young  rabbit  —  reg'lar  baby  rabbit.  An'  I 
motioned  ter  Pig-wigs  ter  come  quick  —  I  bed 
fund  sutbin'.  An'  ez  Pig-wigs  could  n't  put 
the  deedie  down,  he  laid  the  grant  on  top  o' 
the  boards  ez  kivered  the  pit.  But  the  wind 
war  brief,  an'  kem  mighty  nigh  blowin'  that 
grant  away.  So  Pig-wigs  jes'  stuck  it  down 
'twixt  two  planks,  an'  kem  ter  holp  me  ketch 
the  rabbit.  But  Pig-wigs  warn't  no  'count  ter 
holp.  An'  the  rabbit  got  away.  An'  whilst 
Pig-wigs  war  foolin'  round,  he  drapped  his 
deedie,  an'  stepped  on  it  —  tromped  the  life 
out'n  it."  Rufe's  expression  was  of  funereal 
gravity.  "  An'  then  he  f ollered  me  every 
foot  o'  the  way  home,  beggin'  an'  beggin'  me 
ter  gin  him  another.  But  I  would  n't.  I 
won't  gin  no  more  o'  my  deedies  ter  be  tromped 
on,  all  round  the  mounting." 

Rufe  evidently  felt  that  the  line  must  be 
drawn  somewhere. 

"  An'  what  hev  gone  with  that  thar  grant  ? 
Twar  hyar  yestiddy." 

"I    dunno,"    responded   Rufe,    carelessly. 


188  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

"Mebbe  Pig-wigs  reminded  hisself  'bout'n  it 
arter  awhile,  an'  kem  an*  got  it." 

This  proved  to  be  the  ease.  For  Andy  By- 
ers  concerned  himself  enough  in  the  matter  to 
ride  the  old  mule  over  to  Nate's  home,  to  push 
the  inquiries.  Nate  was  just  emerging  from 
the  door.  The  claybank  mare,  saddled  and 
bridled,  stood  in  front  of  the  cabin,  lie  was 
evidently  about  to  mount 

"  Look-a-hyar,  ye  scamp !  "  Byers  saluted 
him  gruffly,  "  why  n't  ye  let  we-uns  know  ez 
ye  hed  got  back  that  thar  grant  <>'  yourn,  ez 
hev  sot  the  whole  mounting  catawampus? 
Pig-wigs  hearn  ye  talkin'  'bout  it  at  las',  and 
tole  ye  ez  he  hed  it,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

Nate  affected  to  examine  the  saddle-girth. 
He  looked  furtively  over  the  mare's  shoulder 
at  Andy  Byers.  He  could  not  guess  how 
much  of  the  facts  had  been  developed.  In 
sheer  perversity  he  was  tempted  to  deny  that 
he  had  the  grant  But  Byers  was  a  heavy  man 
of  scant  patience,  and  he  wore  a  surly  air  that 
boded  ill  to  a  trifler. 

Nate  nodded  admission. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  189 

"  Pig-wigs  fetched  it  home,  eh  ?  "  demanded 
Byers,  leaning  downward. 

Once  more  Nate  lifted  his  long,  thin  ques 
tioning  face.  His  craft  had  no  encourage 
ment. 

"  Ef  ye  be  minded  to  call  him  '  Pig-wigs ' — 
his  right  name  air  Benjymen  —  't  war  him  ez 
fotched  it  home." 

"  Now  ye  air  a  mighty  cantankerous,  quar'l- 
some,  aggervatin'  critter !  "  Byers  broke  out 
irritably.  "Ain't  ye  'shamed  o'  this  hyar 
hurrah  ye  hev  kicked  up  fur  nuthin'  ?  accusin' 
o'  Birt  wrongful,  an'  sech  ?  " 

"  Naw ;  I  ain't  'shamed  o'  nuthin' ! "  said 
Nate  hardily,  springing  into  the  saddle.  "  I  'm 
a-ridin'  ter  the  Settlemint  ter  git  word  from 
the  assayer  'bout'n  the  gold  ez  I  hev  fund. 
An'  when  I  rides  back  I  '11  be  wuth  more'n 
enny  man  in  the  mountings  or  Sparty  either !  " 

And  he  gave  the  mare  the  whip,  and  left 
Andy  Byers,  with  his  mouth  full  of  rebukes, 
sitting  motionless  on  the  dozing  old  mule. 

The  mare  came  back  from  the  Settlement 
late  that  night  under  lash  and  spur,  at  a  speed 


190  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

she  had  never  before  made.  Day  was  hardly 
astir  when  Nate  Griggs,  wild-cyrd  and  ! 
gard,  appeared  at  the  tanyard  in  search  of  Birt. 
He  was  loud  with  reproaches,  for  the  assayer 
had  pronounced  the  "gold"  only  worthless 
iron  pyrites.  He  had  received,  too,  a  jeering 
letter  from  his  proposed  partner  in  Sparta,  who 
had  found  sport  in  playing  on  his  consequen 
tial  ignorance  and  fancied  sharpness.  And 
now  Nate  declared  that  Birt,  also,  had  known 
that  the  mineral  was  valueless,  and  had  from 
the  first  befooled  him.  In  some  way  he 
would  compel  Birt  to  refund  all  the  money 
that  had  been  expended.  How  piteous  was 
Nate  as  he  stood  and  checked  off,  on  his  trem 
bling  fingers,  the  surveyor's  fee,  the  entry- 
taker's  fee,  the  register's  fee,  the  secretary  of 
State's  fee,  the  assayer's  fee  —  Oh,  ruin,  ruin ! 
And  what  had  he  to  show  for  it !  a  tract  of 
crags  and  chasms  and  precipitous  gravelly 
slopes  and  gullies  worth  not  a  mill  an  acre ! 
And  this  was  all  —  for  the  office  of  laughing 
stock  has  no  emoluments.  Where  was  Birt? 
He  would  hold  Birt  to  account. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  191 

Andy  Byers,  listening,  thought  how  well  it 
was  for  Birt  that  Nate  no  longer  had  the  loss 
of  the  grant  as  a  grievance. 

Perkins  mysteriously  beckoned  Nate  aside. 

"Nate,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Birt  air 
powerful  mad  'bout  that  thar  accusin'  him  o' 
stealin'  the  grant,  when  't  war  some  o'  yer  own 
folks,  '  Pigwigs,'  ez  hed  it  all  the  time.  I  seen 
him  goin'  'long  towards  yer  house  a  leetle 
while  ago.  I  reckon  he  air  lookin'  fur  you. 
He  hed  that  big  cowhide,  ez  I  gin  him  t'other 
day,  in  one  hand.  Ye  jes'  take  the  road  home, 
an'  ye  11  ketch  up  with  him  sure." 

Nate's  wits  were  in  disastrous  eclipse. 
Could  he  deduce  nothing  from  the  tanner's 
grin?  He  spent  the  day  at  the  Settlement 
without  ostensible  reason,  and  only  at  nightfall 
did  he  return  home,  and  by  a  devious  route, 
very  different  from  that  indicated  by  Jubal 
Perkins. 

Inquiry  developed  the  fact  that  the  boun 
daries  of  Nate's  land  did  not  include  the  salt 
lick,  and  his  talents  as  an  obstructer  were  not 
called  into  play.  The  professor  was  free  to 


192  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

dig  as  he  chose  for  the  antique  bones  he 
sought,  and  many  a  long  day  did  he  and  Birt 
spend  in  this  sequestered  spot,  with  the  great 
crags  towering  above  and  the  darkling  vistas 
of  the  ravine  on  either  hand.  There  was  a 
long  stretch  of  sunny  weather,  and  somehow 
that  shifting  purple  haze  accented  all  its  lan 
guorous  lustres.  It  seemed  a  vague  sort  of 
poetry  a- loose  in  the  air,  and  color  had  license. 
The  law  which  decreed  that  a  leaf  should  be 
green  was  a  dead  letter.  How  gallantly  red 
and  yellow  they  flared  ;  and  others,  how  ten 
derly  pink,  and  gray,  and  purplish  of  hue! 
What  poly-tinted  fancies  underfoot  in  the 
moss  !  Strange  visitants  came  from  the  north. 
Flocks  of  birds,  southward  bound,  skimmed 
these  alien  skies.  Sometimes  they  alighted  on 
the  tree-tops  or  along  the  banks  of  the  torrent, 
chattering  in  great  excitement,  commenting 
mightily  on  the  country. 

Birt  had  never  been  so  light-hearted  as  dur 
ing  these  days.  The  cessation  of  anxiety  was 
itself  a  sort  of  happiness.  The  long,  hard 
ordeal  to  which  the  truth  had  subjected  him 
had  ended  triumphantly. 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  193 

"  Mighty  onexpected  things  happen  in  this 
worl',"  he  said,  reflectively.  "  It  'pears  power 
ful  cur'ous  to  me,  arter  all  ez  hev  come  an' 
gone,  ez  /  ain't  no  loser  by  that  thar  gold 
mine  down  the  ravine." 

He  himself  was  surprised  that  he  did  not 
rejoice  in  Nate's  mortification  and  defeat.  But 
somehow  he  had  struck  a  moral  equilibrium  ; 
in  mastering  his  anger  and  thirst  for  revenge, 
he  had  gained  a  stronger  control  of  all  the 
more  unworthy  impulses  of  his  nature. 

Meantime  there  was  woe  at  the  tanyard. 
Jube  Perkins  had  been  anxious  to  have  Birt 
resume  his  old  place  on  the  old  terms.  The 
professor,  however,  would  not  release  the  boy 
from  his  engagement.  It  seemed  that  this 
man  of  science  could  deduce  subtle  distinctions 
of  character  in  the  mere  wielding  of  a  spade. 
He  had  never  seen,  he  said,  any  one  dig  so 
conscientiously  and  so  intelligently  as  Birt. 
The  tanner  suddenly  found  that  conscience 
might  prove  a  factor  even  in  so  simple  a  mat 
ter  as  driving  the  old  mule  around  the  bark- 
mill.  The  boy  who  had  taken  Birt's  place  was 

13 


194  DOWN  THE  JMT72VE. 

a  sullen,  intractable  fellow,  and  brutal.  IVhen 
he  yelled  and  swore  and  plied  the  lash,  the  old 
mule  would  occasionally  back  his  cars.  The 
climax  came  one  day  when  the  rash  boy  kicked 
the  animaL  Now  this  reminded  the  mild-man 
nered  old  mule  of  his  own  youthful  prowess 
as  a  kicker.  He  revived  his  reputation.  He 
seemed  to  stand  on  his  fore-legs  and  his  nui/- 
zle,  while  his  hind-legs  played  havoc  behind 
him.  The  terrified  boy  dared  not  come  near 
him.  The  bark-mill  itself  was  endangered. 
Jube  Perkins  had  not  done  so  much  work  for 
a  twelvemonth  as  in  his  efforts  to  keep  the 
boy,  the  mule,  and  the  bark-mill  going  to 
gether. 

There  were  no  "  finds  "  down  by  the  lick  to 
rejoice  the  professor,  and  he  went  away  at  last 
boneless,  except  in  so  far  as  nature  had  pro 
vided  him.  He  left  Birt  amply  rewarded  for 
his  labor.  So  independent  did  Mrs.  Dicey 
feel  with  this  sum  of  money  in  reserve,  that 
she  would  not  agree  that  Birt  should  work  on 
the  old  terms  with  the  tanner.  Birt  was  dis 
mayed  by  this  temerity.  Once  more,  however, 


DOWN  THE  RAVINE.  195 

he  recognized  her  acumen,  for  Jubal  Perkins, 
although  he  left  the  house  in  a  huff,  came  back 
again  and  promised  good  wages.  Ignorant 
and  simple  as  she  was,  her  keen  instinct  for 
her  son's  best  interest,  his  true  welfare,  en 
dowed  her  words  with  wisdom.  Thenceforth 
he  esteemed  no  friend,  no  ally,  equal  to  his 
mother. 

It  delighted  him  to  witness  her  triumph  in 
the  proof  of  his  innocence,  and  indeed  she  did 
not  in  this  matter  bear  herself  with  meekness. 
It  made  him  feel  so  prosperous  to  note  her 
relapse  into  her  old  caustic  habit  of  speech. 
Ah,  if  he  were  hurt  or  sore  beset,  every  word 
would  be  tenderness. 

Birt  shortly  compassed  a  much  desired  ob 
ject.  The  mule's  revival  of  his  ancient  glories 
as  a  "  tumble  kicker  "  had  injured  his  market 
value,  and  Birt's  earnings  enabled  him  to  pur 
chase  the  animal  at  a  low  price.  The  mule 
lived  to  a  great  age,  always  with  his  master  as 
"  mild-mannered  "  as  a  lamb. 

For  some  time  Birt  saw  nothing  of  Nate,  but 
one  day  the  quondam  friends  met  face  to  face 


196  DOWN  THE  RAVINE. 

on  a  narrow,  precipitous  path  on  the  mountain 
side.  Abject  fear  was  expressed  in  Nate's 
sharp  features,  for  escape  was  impossible. 

There  was  no  need  of  either  fear  or  flight. 

"  How  air  ye,  I'on  Pyrite ! "  cried  Birt 
cheerfully. 

The  martyr's  countenance  changed. 

"Ye  never  done  me  right  'bout  that  thar 
mine,  Birt  Dicey,"  Nate  said  reproachfully. 
"  Ye  mus'  hev  knowed  from  the  fust  ez  them 
thar  rocks  war  good  fur  nuthin'." 

"  Ye  air  the  decei  vinest  sandy-headed  Pyrite 
that  ever  war  on  the  top  o'  this  mounting, 
an'  ye  knows  it,"  Birt  retorted  in  high  good 
humor ;  "  an'  ef  it  war  wuth  my  while  I  'd  gin 
ye  a  old-fashion  larrupin'  jes*  ter  pay  ye  fur 
the  trick  ez  ye  played  on  me.  But  I  ain't 
keerin'  fur  that,  now.  Stan'  back  thar,  Ten- 
nessee !  " 

Since  then,  Tennessee,  always  preserving 
the  influence  she  wielded  that  memorable  night, 
has  grown  to  be  a  woman  —  never  pretty,  but, 
as  her  brother  still  stoutly  avers,  "powerful 
peart." 


'BOOKS  FOT^  YOUNG  FOLKS, 

PUBLISHED  BY 

Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company. 

&8OP. 

The  Fables  of  2Esop.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 
*The  Book  of  Fables,  chiefly  from  -2Esop.    Illustrated.    40 
cents  net. 

JOHN  AIKEN  AND  MRS.  BARBAULD. 
Evenings  at  Home.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH. 
The  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN. 
Stories  and  Tales.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 
Wonder  Stories.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 

ARABIAN  NIGHTS'  ENTERTAINMENTS. 

Illustrated.     12mo,  $1.00. 

*Six  Stories  from  the  Arabian  Nights.  Illustrated.  48 
cents  net. 

EMILE  DE  LA  BEDOLLIERRE. 

The  Story  of  a  Cat.  Translated  from  the  French  by  T.  B. 
ALDRICII.  Illustrated  with  silhouettes.  $1.00. 

ALICE  AND  PHOEBE   CART. 

Ballads  for  Little  Folk.    Illustrated.    $1.50. 

JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER. 

Sea  Tales.    First  Series.    Illustrated.    The  set,  5  vols.,  $5.00. 

Sea  Tales.     Second  Series.     The  set,  5  vols.,  $5.00. 

Leather-Stocking  Tales.  Household  Edition.  The  set,  5  vols., 
$5.00. 

Cooper  Stories.  From  the  Works  of  Cooper.  Illustrated  by 
DARLEY.  STORIES  OF  THE  PRAIRIE.  STORIES  op  THB 
WOODS.  STORIES  OF  TIIE  SEA.  3  vols.,  $1.00  each. 

CHARLES  EGBERT  CRADDOCK, 

Down  the  Kavine.     Illustrated.     16mo,  $1.00. 
RICHARD  H.  DANA,  JR. 

Two  Years  before  the  Mast.    $1.00. 


THOMAS  DAT. 

Bandford  and  Merton.     Illustrated.    Si. 00. 

DAlflEL  DE  FOE. 
Bobinaon  Crusoe.    Illustrated  by  NAST,  etc.    $1.00. 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

A  Child's  History  of  England.     Illustrated.    $1.00. 

v  i  /.  /   I    i  ix.  i   \\<>ni  11. 
The  Parent's  Assistant.    Illustrated.     $1.00. 

S.IMVKI.  ELIOT  (editor). 
•Poetry  for  Children.     Illustrated.     80  cents  net. 
•Six  Stories  from  the  Arabian   Nights.     Illustrated.     48 
cents  net. 

ABRAHAM  FIRTH  (editor). 

Voices  for  the  Speechless.     75  cents. 

JEAXIE  T.  OOULD. 
Marjorie's  Quest.     Illustrated.    $1.50. 

MIRIAM  COLES  HARRIS. 
Louie's  Last  Term  at  St.  Mary's.     $1.00. 
Bound-Hearts,  and  other  Stories,     $1.00. 

ii  //////'/   HAUrf. 

Arabian  Days'  Entertainments.     Illustrated  by  HOPPIX. 
$1.50. 

JTATHANIEL  HAWTHORJTE. 
True  Stories  from  History  and   Biography.      Illustrated. 

$1.50.     "Little  Classic"  Edition.     $1.00. 
Wonder   Book   for   Girls    and    Boys.      Illustrated.     $1.50. 

"Little  Clastic"  Edition.     $1.00. 
The  Same.     Illustrated  hv  CHURCH.     $2.50. 
Tanglewood  Tales.     Illustrated.     $1.50.     "Little  Classic" 

Edition.     SI  .00. 

The  Snow  Image.     Illustrated  in  colors.     75  cents. 
Grandfather's  Chair.     Paper,  15  cents. 

AUOVSTVS  HOPPIJf. 

Recollections  of  Auton  House.     Illustrated.     $1.25. 
Two  Compton  Boys.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

THOMAS  HUGHES. 

Tom  Brown's  School  Days  at  Bugby.     Illustrated.    $1.00. 
Tom  Brown  at  Oxford.     $1.25. 


SARAH  ORNE  JEWETT. 

Flay  Days.    $1.50. 

CHARLES  AND  MART  LAMB. 

Tales  from  Shakespeare.     "  Little  Classic  "  Edition.    $1.00. 
The  Same.     Handy-Volume  Edition,    $1.25. 
The  Same.    Illustrated.     $1.00. 

The  Same.     Carefully  prepared  for  use  in  Boston  Schools. 
Illustrated.    $1.00. 

LUCT  LARCOM. 

Childhood  Songs.    Illustrated.     $1.00. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE  (editor). 

*SLr  Popular  Tales.    First  Series.    Illustrated.    Paper,  16 

cents  net. 
*Six  Popular  Tales.     Second  Series.    Illustrated.    Paper, 

16  cents  net. 
*Selected  Popular  Tales.    Illustrated.    Paper,  16  cents  net. 

BARONESS  DE  MONTOLIEU  and  J.  R.  WYS8. 

Swiss  Family  Robinson.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 
MOTHER  GOOSE'S  MELODIES  FOR  CHILDREN. 
Illustrated,  and  with  music.     4to,  $2.00. 

REV.  THEODORE  T.  MUNGER, 
On  the  Threshold.     $1.00. 
Lamps  and  Paths.     $1.00. 

JAMES  PARTON. 
Captains  of  Industry.     With  Portraits.     $1.25. 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELP8. 
The  Trotty  Book.     Illustrated.     $1.25. 

Trotty's   Wedding   Tour   and   Story   Book.      Illustrated. 
$1.25. 

ABBT  SAGE  RICHARDSON. 
Stories  from  Old  English  Poetry.    Illustrated.    $1.00. 

HORACE  E.  8C UDDER. 

The    Bodley   Books.     First   Series.    Each  volume,  $1.50. 
The  set,  5  vols.,  $7.50. 

1.  Doings  of  the  Bodley  Family  in  Town  and  Country. 
trated. 

2.  The  Bodleys  Telling   Stories.    Illustrated. 

3.  The  Bodleys  on  Wheels.     Illustrated. 
4    The  Bodleys  Afoot.    Illustrated. 

6.  Mr.  Bodley  Abroad.    Illustrated. 


The  Bodley  Booka.    Second  Series.    Each  volume,  $1.50. 

1.  The  Bodley  Grandchildren.    Illustrated. 

2.  The  English  Bodlejr  Family.     Illustrated. 

3.  The  Viking  Bodlejrs.     Illuxtratal. 
Dream  Children.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 
Seven  Little  People.     Illustrated.     SI  .00. 
Stories  from  my  Attic.     Illustrated.     Si. 00. 

The  Children's  Book.     Illustrated.     $3.50 ;  boards,  $2.75. 
Boston  Town.     Illustrated.    $1.50. 

HARRIET  BEECHES  STOWS. 

Little  Pussy  Willow.     Illustrated.    $1.25. 
A  Dog's  Mission.     Illustrated.    $1.25. 
Queer  Little  People.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 

CELIA  THAITER. 

Poems  for  Children.    Illustrated.    $1.50. 

TREASURY  OF  PLEASURE  BOOKS. 

For  Young  People.    Illustrated  in  colon.    75  ccuts. 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARltXR. 
Being  a  Boy.    Illustrated.    $1.50. 

MRS.  A.  D.  T.    WHITSKY. 

Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood.    $1.50. 

Hitherto,     fl.50. 

Patience  Strong's  Outings.     $1.50. 

The  Oayworthys.     $1.50. 

A  Summer  in  Leslie  Ooldthwaite's  Life.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

We  Girls.     Illustrated.    $1.50. 

Real  Folks.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

The  Other  Girls.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

Sights  and  Insights.     2  vols.     $3.00. 

Odd,  or  Even?    $1.50. 

Bonnyborough.     A  new  Story.     $1.50. 

Boys  at  Chequasset.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

JOHN  GREEJfLEAF   WHITTIEK  ( editor). 
Child  Life.     Illustrated.     $2.00  ;  half  calf,  $4.00. 
Child  Life  in  Prose.     Illustrated.    $2.00;  half  calf,  $4.00. 
2  vols.,  half  calf,  $7.50. 


%*  For  tale  by  all  BooiaeUert.    Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  oj 
price  by  the  Publisher*, 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO., 
4  PAKK  ST.,  BOSTOX  ;  11  E.  I?TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


;  JH    2  4  1 


Form  L-9-15m-2,'36 


Dup 


Down  the 


ravine • 


JUN 


